TwentyTwenty
by Sora Tsuiki
Summary: Finding myself dead is one thing and being sucked into this weird monster's mouth, meeting this Minato guy who claims to be a ninja from another world is another. But somehow being resurrected in that other world and thrown into a life of killing and inhuman powers? Now who the hell would think any of that possible! As everyone says: Hindsight is twenty/twenty.
1. The Devil's Water, It Ain't So Sweet

**So I wrote this because I just could NOT refuse my muse… even though I actually HATE OC stories… It just called to me and I was waiting for the new chapter of ****_Contracted_**** to be reviewed and started writing this instead… I hope you all like it!**

**Chapter Title: The Devil's Water, It Ain't So Sweet**

**If you know what song this is from, special mentions in whatever chapter I post next! First person to know it might get a small gift!**

***Don't Own Naruto***

You know, in hindsight it probably wasn't a good idea for my sister to sacrifice my soul for her to get into college. Sure, we didn't believe in things like magic or voodoo or rituals, so where was the harm in playing around with the stuff when joking around? It was all make-believe. Jokes. Nothing we actually meant.

But here, where I am now, staring at my broken body mangled by a runaway car, I consider it necessary to rethink our actions.

The phantom aches of the very injuries littering my body still reside in my mind. It wasn't flashes of scene from my life that I saw in the last moments, nor the faces of the people I love. Loved, I guess, now that I'm dead.

No, I saw nothing but the faded out blue of the truck that hit me, peeling paint driving away and I felt nothing other than the feeling of choking on my own blood and pain everywhere. And now, all I see are the remnants of these things, broken bones and torn flesh. A concave chest. Blood spattered on the road behind me and seeping into a puddle underneath.

My lifeless green eyes still stare after the long-gone car, blood dripping into their sockets. The agonal breaths slowly gasping out of my mouth gurgle with blood, red liquidy foam pouring from the corner of my mouth.

Shuddering, I bite my lip in an attempt not to cry. Or vomit. _Can spirits even vomit? Can they even cry?_

_I wonder… can I just step back into my body? Take back my life? _

I hiccup, tears beginning to pour down my face. Kneeling, I reach my hand out to my hair, golden locks now tainted dark wine with blood. My hand phases straight through. Sucking in a choking gulp of air, my eyes burn with tears.

"Fuck," I whisper, throat hoarse. I flinch after realizing the woman performing CPR doesn't even register my voice. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She still doesn't even twitch. "Look at me, please! I'm right here!" I'm absolutely sobbing now, snot dribbling down my nose and pitiful noises escaping my mouth. Maybe, if I were alive, I'd be thankful that no one could see my pathetic face right now.

How was this fair? Why did I die? Sure, I didn't always hand it my homework assignments, and I might have borrowed my sister's dress that one time without asking, but surely that wasn't a reason to end my life!

The woman moved to my head to give me breaths, never flinching at the blood covering my face. I slam my fist to the ground next to where her mouth meets mine in a bloody kiss of life. Even with her air, my chest doesn't rise.

I shouldn't… I couldn't…!

Lunging towards her, my momentum takes be straight through the woman's body, leaving me tumbling across the ground like an idiot. I stand shakily to face her again when I notice that she turns to where I stopped behind her and am standing now. My heart flutters. _Maybe she…?_

"When is the ambulance coming?" she screamed at another bystander whose phone was in his hand. He fumbles nervously, sweat dripping down his face and opens his mouth to reply.

I don't hear his answer, instead I am sprinting full force back home, leaving my body behind. Not that it would do me any good anymore.

If I can see them, just one more time.

I trip on air while rounding a corner, falling flat on my face. A small, nagging throb ran through me again. Shaking it off—_I'm dead already, what's a few scrapes?—_I scramble to my feet, ready to take off again. Only a mile until I reach home and until I reach my family, unawares and setting the table for five. They'd only need four plates today.

Taking a harsh, shuddering breath, I swallow the sob about to erupt from my mouth and soldier forward and make another couple steps before I stop in my tracks.

I stare horrified as a… thing appears out of nowhere, blocking my path. Robed in white, its skin is a dark, sickly grey that accentuates the emancipated chest shown. Pale gold hair bursts from its skull, spiking out in a mane and trailing down to its waist. Atop the thing's head sat two obsidian horns, sharper than any knife I had ever seen. At least, sharper than any knife except for the one in the beast's mouth.

Gasping, I step back, tears still streaming down my face. It turns its wicked eyes down on me and the thing smiles, showing rows of sharp teeth holding the sword in its mouth. Drool drips down, disappearing into its robes as a cold and guttural laugh escapes from behind the blade.

I turn to run when the pure coldness grips me, freezing my body.

"No! I need to see them, please!" I scream in a frenzy, willing my body to move, thrash, run. The monster is approaching me, eyes blazing, and removes the sword from its mouth. Heavy drops of saliva trail down the blade's hilt, running onto the bony fingers and sharp nails. I stare up at it, still unable to move as tears fall down my face.

"Please, damnit! They won't understand! I need to say goodbye!" My voice scratches at my ears with desperateness, but I know the words fall short on the thing in front of me. This thing isn't human.

Floating closer, it licks the sword with a menacing, pointed tongue. It was purple.

Fear grips me and my thrashing against what froze me becomes stronger.

In its hands as it picks me up, I find my ability to move once again. Struggling to break free, all I get for my effort is a sharp pain in my arm as I'm forcibly swallowed after being dragged across the beast's teeth. I cry out in agony, a sound that nobody around could hear.

Groaning in pain, I open my eyes to see stark whiteness greet me instead of sky. I hiss as I sit up, feeling as if my muscles had gone through a blender and back, salt rubbed into the wounds for good measure. Still, there is an overwhelming sense of numbness to it all, as if it isn't really there.

I glance at my arm quickly, noting the thick flow of blood. I scoff, standing shakily. _I am dead. Who cares._

Bright red dripping behind me, I walk away with a firm acceptance of the worthlessness of fighting the inevitable. I walk into the blank white surroundings, leaving only a red pool of blood from my wounds behind.

I don't know how far I strode, or for how long, but eventually I spot something other than white in the distance. Jogging towards the speck ignoring the aches in my body, I soon distinguish features: spiky yellow hair, white and red cloak, the rise and fall of a chest. It's a person, sitting down cross-legged. But most importantly, it isn't plain whiteness.

I had to have made a sound, because soon eyes snap open to reveal striking blue orbs that zoom into my face. He was a man in his early twenties. Different looking, but between the cerulean eyes, spiky yellow hair framing his face, sharp cheek bones, and lean build he must have been considered very handsome in life.

He looks me up and down meticulously, eyes slowly raving my form and I feel the blush rise to my cheeks.

"Are you all right?" He had to have been referring to my wounded arm, but I am too preoccupied with his voice to answer. His words seem oddly garbled, flowing between the syllables and sounds in a queer way. Unnatural, almost as if the words didn't actually fit his mouth, yet at the same time each word was said with such clarity that I understood perfectly. I stare at him cautiously, watching as he stands to his full height in calm and assured movements.

"I just died and got eaten by this…_thing._ What do you think?" I finally ask crossly, moving my arm behind me. I concentrate on the pain from the movements. It makes me feel real. Alive.

He laughs, something that sounds very different now than what I expected. It was airy and warm, just as the polite smile that lit up his face. He begins to approach me, silent as a cat. My muscles tense and I watch him warily. "Well, that's how you get here. May I?" he inquires, offering a roll of bandages.

I blink, confused, slackening my posture in a way that the man takes it as permission. Where had the bandages come from?

As he gets closer, I snatch the bandages from his hand and back away, muttering a saying of thanks. Sniffing the cloth quickly and recognizing the sterile scent, I sit down and lay my arm across my thigh. The man's eyes glitter with politely restrained humor as he takes a step back, giving me space.

Instead of focusing on him though, I turn my attention to my limb, still pulsing out rivers of blood that are now staining my bright purple running shorts. I don't know how much it had already bled, but it doesn't look like it will be stopping any time soon.

I slipped off my zip-up hoodie and use the long sleeves to wipe away the blood around the cut brusquely, wincing when it stung.

I hear him speak again, in his oddly jumbled and accented voice, "And don't worry too much about the pain or blood, it'll all numb out soon."

Tossing the bloodied grey thing aside, I think for a moment before asking, "And where exactly is 'Here'?" I place the beginning of the bandage at my wrist, wrapping tightly and efficiently around my forearm and inching up the wound, careful to layer the wrapping correctly.

Sitting in front of me and watching my work, he replies, "The Shinigami's stomach, of course."

I falter in rolling my bandages. Shinigami? I don't recognize anyone by that name. Finishing up my bandaging and tucking the last inch of cloth in, my eyes meet his sharply. Puzzled, I query, "Shinigami?" For some reason, the word just sounded _better_ when he said it.

He looks at me, confused as well, like I had grown a second head or breathed fire or something. Rolling my eyes to myself, I think of how stupid that sounds.

But then again, I was just eaten by some wacko _ghost_ of all things.

"Yeah," he states, running a hand through his yellow hair, "the Death God." He sighs after saying this, as if he was resigned to the fact.

"Oh," I say with a tight smile_. It all makes sense now_, I think sarcastically, mentally banging my head on a table. This guy has a few screws loose. "The Devil," I finish with a knowing nod just to appease him, leaning my chin on a fist. I was eaten by the devil. Just perfect.

He leans forward as if trying to decipher me, hair swinging into his face. After a bit, he begins speaking again, "Devil?" I nod, scowling at him. Handsome he is, but smart not so much_. Quite dull, actually_, I think sighing to myself. I gaze off into the distance, attempting to see anything else out there, but nothing.

"Like a demon?" he continues. I nod again and he laughs. "Oh no, he isn't one of the demons, he's the Death God," the man finishes saying matter-of-factly, watching me with more cautiousness.

I whip my head back and stare at him a while, focusing on what he said, trying to jumble through it all. This man was obviously crazy, with all this "Death God" nonsense. Maybe being here for a while had fried his brain or something, because being in the stomach of the devil—_oh wait, excuse me, Death God—_was absolutely inconceivable and ridiculous to an extreme degree. Heaven, Hell or Limbo. Three choices.

He smiles tentatively at me and a guarded look flashes through his eyes. Maybe he thinks the same of me with my devil nonsense.

With a grunt and a simple nod, I mutter another thank you and stand up. He watches me curiously as I motion through a noncommittal wave, walking past his sitting figure and back into the whiteness. I might as well try to figure out where I really am.

However, apparently wherever I am, there is no such thing as imagination. I had to have been walking aimlessly for the past few days or so, but nothing changed. I didn't get tired and never slept, and luckily I'm not hungry. Who knows how horrible it must be to starve in an empty white realm for eternity.

My eyes start to water. I'm dead and alone with nothing to do. Biting my lip, I try to distract myself from the sadness with the pain, but the crazy guy was right. My arm had stopping throbbing a while ago.

Stopping, I stare down at the red-stained bandages on my arm. The blood marring it was less red and more of a brown now, looking a little crusty. I wince at the description and gingerly finger the cloth. Shrugging—_what could be the worst thing to happen? I bleed to death?_—I grip the bandage firmly and unravel it, flinching when I start peeling the scab away.

Letting the thing flutter to the ground quietly, I once again examine my arm. It is no longer bleeding, even after tearing off the scab, but neither is the wound healed. Instead it is just flesh sheared in two characterized by a numb, phantom pain. Curiously, I pull the slabs of skin apart and eye them, taking note of the layers of muscle and vessels I could see. Blanching, I curl up and puke, spitting up acidy flavors.

Within a few minutes, I'm reduced to dry heaving, choking on nothing but air and acrid stench of half-digested food for the living. Tears once again fall from my cheeks in pain and misery. I'm dead and alone.

Gulping for air to breath between my sobs, I blink my eyes free of water long enough to spot the sullied bandage on the ground. It lay uselessly still, grotesque brown against pure white. I bite my lips again, swallowing down a pitiful hiccup and launch the realm into silence again. Trembling, I make up my mind.

"Who are you?" I ask the man, standing in front of him. I had already picked up and put on my hoodie again to mask my ugly arm, but left it unzipped to display my Notre Dame pinny checkered blue and gold. It was a gift from my sister for Christmas last year. My eyes tear at the thought, then harden.

The man's eyes opened slowly and calmly to reveal assured blue eyes, as if unsurprised to see me. He is smiling brightly again. "Well, it's polite to introduce yourself first," he states warmly, uncrossing his legs to stand up. He stands a good four inches taller than me, but his smile keeps him from being intimidating. His posture is relaxed, welcoming, calming. He continues, "But I'm Namikaze Minato. Nice to meet you."

_Ah, he's foreign, _I realize, thinking on his name. Despite the weird, unnatural shifting of his tones, the accent suddenly made sense. I nod in recognition and answer myself, "Sheigh Blanchette. Nice to meet you too, Mr. Minato."

"Blanchette is an interesting name," Minato speculates, scratching the back of his head. He once again targets in on my features, analyzing them methodically.

My eye twitches in annoyance at his unabashed comment and stares. "Yeah, well who the hell names their kid Namikaze?" I bite back, crossing my arms with a scowl. _And he's chiding me on _my _manners…_

"My parents named me Minato, not Namikaze." He looks at me with a confused expression once again. "My surname is Namikaze." I blink, relaxing my arms and letting the drop to my side.

"Oh, mine is Blanchette…" _Isn't saying your surname first an Asian thing? _"Are you from Asia?" I ask curiously with a smile, attempting to be polite this time. The poor guy is dead and stuck in this curious place just like me, I should at least play nice instead of being a jerk. Besides, I can go for a bit of conversation right now.

"No," Minato answered with a smile on his face, sitting down with a motion for me to do the same. I pretend I don't see it and continue to stand. I focus on his soft expression instead. "I don't know what country Asia is in, but I'm from Konoha," he says, beaming with pride. His gentle expression turns fiery with life, his smile blooming into something bigger and more vivacious. "Or as I like to call it: The Village with Stupendously Fantastic Beautiful People who live in the Emerald Trees!" Minato chuckles goofily, scratching his head again. "Though, that's a mouthful," he chuckles, leaning back to give me a good look.

Surely he doesn't register my unimpressed face, because he still smiles brightly when my scowl returns full force at his words. _He's _really _foreign. _"Asia is a continent and sorry. But I've never heard of your 'Konoha,'" I spit at him, brows furrowed in annoyance.

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline and for the first time since I've met him, his eyes didn't contain a polite kindness. Instead there is a look of complete and utter incredulity. He opens his mouth for a moment, closes it, and opens it again to respond, "The Village Hidden in the Leaves? No way! Everyone had heard of Konoha!"

Throwing my arms wide, I yell back, "Everyone has heard of Asia!" Seeing his stunned gaze still in place, I sigh, giving up. Why did he have to be the only person in this place to talk to? He is batshit _crazy_!

I eye Minato warily, and begin to turn around to walk away again when I hear his voice pick up, "Do you know of the Elemental Countries?" The blonde's tone is filled with a cool curiosity and I get the feeling that I'm being examined again, head-to-toe and by my answer.

I freeze for a moment, chancing a look back to see the serious look on his face. It was full of thought, like thousands of theories and ideas were running through it as we spoke. I pause minutely, debating whether or not I should answer and feed into the man's stupid game. Finally, I say, "No, should I?"

With these words, he spurs into action, blurring from his seat to suddenly be standing front of me. I take a step back as he begins to pace around me in a circle with a delighted look on his face. At first I try to swat him away with angry grunts, but I miss every time and give up.

Blue eyes narrowed with thoughtful excitement, he continues to circle me like a hawk, mumbling small comments and observations under his breath. Twitching, I clench a hand at my side to keep from hitting the poor crazy guy.

"Amazing!" he mutters in shock, finally stopping in front of me, "Apparently the Shinigami isn't limited to only the world..!" But the man isn't looking at me, but rather at something else that I cannot see myself.

My eyes narrow and I cross my arms. "Excuse me, but I'm from the world, Mr. Namikaze," I growl out, glaring. I don't much appreciate being ignored, and I appreciate it even less when some crazy man decides to take a creepy interest in me and insist on impossibly stupid things.

He chuckles nervously, eyes focusing back into mine apologetically. "Sorry, I meant my world. It appears as if we're from very different… places." He smiles at me, always the polite smile.

But I look blandly back. _Yeah, he's crazy. _ Sighing, I turn and walk away again, tired of his nonsense.

It doesn't take me long to find my way back to Minato again after that, appearing in front of him like a dog with its tail between its legs.

This time when I approach, I don't speak and instead simply watch him, slowly breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. His legs, clad in black baggy pants, were crossed as always and he touched his two fists together in front of his chest. Currently, his white cloak with flames lay next to him on the ground, leaving Minato in a black undershirt and a bulky sage green vest. I spot many pockets lining it, too many to count even.

With slow, deliberate movements, he breaths in again, holds, and lets out. It's almost as if he were meditating.

I wait patiently, just watching and analyzing him as he had done to me earlier. He has beautifully tanned skin, I realize with jealousy. And his hands are calloused, I think back to when I nabbed the bandage from him when we first met. Maybe he worked outside for a living? A farmer? But those clothes…

Deep in thought, I pick up the cloak next to him, letting the light cloth slip through my fingers. It feels so delicate, smoothly rippling with each of my movements, but there is no fraying on the edges or thinning of the material. I see a flash of black on stark white, piquing my interest. Flipping the article of clothing around, a line of dark black characters go down the cloak's back. It must have meant something, but it was in a language I couldn't read.

_Well, he's definitely from a country in Asia, if these characters have anything to say_, I ponder uselessly, tracing one of the strokes with my finger. It feels… powerful.

Sighing, I fold it up and drop it next to Minato, who still hasn't moved from his spot. I scrunch my face up with displeasure, and plop down in front of the man, leaning back on my arms with my legs sprawled out towards him. I lick my dry lips, finally turning my attention back to his concentrated face.

I blink owlishly when instead of finding him still meditating, one eye is peeked open and watching me with amusement.

"Thank you," he said not unkindly, opening his other eye as well. My own hold confusion. He waves his hand to his side for clarification, motioning to the cloak sitting next to him, before adding, "For folding it." I stare at him dumbly, not knowing what to say. He waits with a patient smile, just watching me.

Finally, I find words. "How long have you been in this… Shinigami's stomach?" I ask, turning my head upwards as if looking for the esophagus that dropped me down into this hellhole. Of course all I find is stretching pallor devoid of anything.

"_The_ Shinigami's stomach," he amends, dragging his arm across his chest until it pops. He sighs with satisfaction before answering my question: "And it's hard to tell. Ten years maybe? Give or take?" Minato shrugs, twisting in his seat until his back cracks, too. I wince at each sound.

Ten years is a long time, I consider, watching the man watch me. Plenty of time to drive oneself into delusions.

"Tell me about your… so called world, the 'Elemental Nations,'" I whisper shyly, averting my eyes. I know he's smiling gaily, excited at my interest. I grunt in recognition of this and scowl stubbornly.

His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm when I steal a glance at him, quickly turning away again with a blush dusting my face. "Well, Little Blanchette," my eye twitches violently, "the Elemental Nations is comprised of several different countries, though the largest are Wind, Lighting, Earth, Water, and Fire Country, my home." He smiles fondly, counting off five fingers while talking. His face is so serene and happy when speaking of his home, make-believe or not. Minato continues, "Each of these countries has hidden villages, where their ninja reside-"

"There's no such thing as ninja," I interject quickly with a scoff. I can't help myself, the notion is absolutely ridiculous with people running around in all black, faces hidden by masks and killing people from the shadows. I shudder. Ridiculous.

His eyes widen. "You have no ninja?" he pronounced slowly as if I hadn't understood his earlier statement. If at all possible, the man seemed to become even more excited.

My scowl deepens and my brow furrows in apprehension. I pause to scrutinize the look of overwhelming interest on his face. "They don't exist," I insist, staring into his eyes.

He ignores my tone completely, jumping up to his feet in one motion. He states instead, "Wow, ninja are crucial to our way of living! They're our military and our means of making money, most of the time. It's a way of life, culture and politics! How do you survive?" The man's blue eyes delve into mine. His smile grows, showing straight, white teeth and the beginning of laugh lines around the corners of his mouth.

I pinch my mouth shut, giving the meanest glare I could, willing the blonde to understand that ninja simply _did not exist._ He frowns at first at my behavior, but shrugs it off and smiles again.

"Well, you can tell me about your home another day! Mine, on the other hand is full of ninja, like I said! We are each identified to our villages by our headbands," he states, hand moving up to reposition a headband that I somehow had missed under his golden hair. Seeing my curiosity, Minato's smile widens and he reaches behind his head. Untying it, the headband falls free from his forehead and he offers it to me, one side of the cloth clutched in his hand.

Frown marring my face, I hesitantly accept it, cradling the piece in my hands. I touch my fingers to the cool metal place in the center of it, an engraved stylistic leaf on its surface. While I study his headband, Minato continues.

"Each village is run by the strongest ninja in the village, and they name him 'Shadow,'" he says. "They are in charge of the village and giving out missions to the other resident ninja based on their rank. But I'll get back to that! The only people above the Shadow is the country's leader, the Damaiyo."

Despite his words, I am still focusing on the artifact in my hands. _He had to have it created before dying to have it here, right? Did that mean his home… the Elemental Nations were real? _ I bite my lip and narrow my eyes. Or he is so crazy that he made it himself before he died.

The man continues to tell me about his home and how the way of life goes on, centering on politics and culture flow in his world, throwing in some history while he's at it. As he begins to talk about wars and then missions where the ninja, where _he, _killed so easily, I can't help but feel sick. If he imagined these things up, he is very disturbed. And the way he talks about… _murdering_ people with such nonchalance and a happy grin on his face makes me want to puke.

"…though I knew this one guy who insisted the Sand were genius to use poison, since you could easily kill someone without suspicion. A clean and inconspicuous kill goes a long way in comparison to gutting a person, most of the time," he adds solemnly, a look of deep thought on his face.

Sitting here and listening for what had to be six hours yet, I finally have the brains to excuse myself, face no doubtedly pale as the white around me. He seems a little confused, but politely nods and waves goodbye, smiling after my form.

I hastily retreat, taking long and fast strides and cupping a hand at my mouth. When I believe myself to be far enough, I retch.

_That man is sick._

I don't go anywhere for a while after that. The nausea in my stomach sits heavily, weighing me down. Every time I think I feel better, I remember the descriptions Minato gave me and then the feeling shows up again.

Maybe that is why he seems so calm in a place like this, death is a natural and very common thing in their world. Me? I was almost eighteen and I hadn't even graduated to go to college yet. My life should have been ahead of me.

Sniffling, tears spring to my eyes. I was alive and now I'm dead. It is as simple as that.

"But," I gasp out, head in my hands, "I did nothing wrong! Why did _I_ have to die?" Screaming into the whiteness, there wasn't even an echo. My noise is swallowed up as if it wasn't even there in the first place, like it never existed. Tears pour down my face, waterfalling onto my legs.

_That's right,_ I think to myself, clenching my hands, _It's like I never existed_. After a week of solitude, I walked around for what seemed like forever to try and find the bandages or the blood from my arm, but I found nothing. I can be erased and nothing will be left behind. I searched and searched, but never found what I was searching for.

I bite my lip so hard I was surprised I don't bleed, hoping the pain would prove my existence to myself and stop the tears from coming, but there is no pain and all tears. I wish now that my arm still hurt, or my chest, or head, from when I first came here, but all that remains from that was the still open wound residing on my left arm, jagged and torn. I stab my fingers into the flesh, hoping to garner some feeling, but nothing comes.

A worthless cry rips from my throat, eaten by the silence around me. My eyes are swollen from weeping and throat hoarse from sobbing, but that doesn't stop me. Ripping my lips apart, I scream until my breath dies out.

I feel tired, more tired than I had ever felt during my stay here. Hiccupping pathetically, I fall back onto the floor and roll over. I close my eyes, and pretend to sleep through the shuddering sobs wracking my body.

I blearily open my eyes, wincing at the brightness that was around me. I stretch languidly, pointing my toes and sit up only to pause. Covering me is a white cloak with embers and black characters running down the back. I rub at my eyes, but the cloth doesn't disappear. Scrambling back, I spin to stare at Minato doing several pushups next to me. As I move, his head turns in my direction, shooting me a small smile before focusing once again on his exercises.

I stare at him, horrified, and clutch the cloak to my chest. I think about running, several times, but for some reason I'm rooted to the spot. He just continues to do pushups like it's nothing. Then again, since he is a ninja, it must not be anything. I run my hand through my hair, watching him. My eyes soften.

"So you said Ninja can perform ninja techniques like breathing fire…" I begin hesitantly, looking anywhere but him when his head snaps up in my direction. "Can you show me?"

Rolling out of the planking position and into a sitting one, he smiles sadly at me. "I'm sorry to say I cannot. The physical half of Chakra doesn't exist in this realm," he explains morosely.

When I regard his words quizzically, the man brightens up. "Oh! You don't know what chakra is! Well, chakra is and how it is composed of the spiritual and physical embodiments of a person mixed together," he starts. I get the sinking feeling that I dug my own grave on this one as Minato's words keep pouring out of his mouth. Apparently the energy is present in all living things, but some beings have the ability to wield it and bend it to their will. He describes how Chakra is used for illusionary, physical, and medical techniques. He teaches me how the energy flows through hands seals, even going as far to teach me them and correct my hand positions when they were wrong.

Minato drones on especially when it comes to nature transformation, depicting the feeling of each different type as chakra flows through the user and goes even more in depth on seals. My mind is spinning with theories and ideas and knowledge, laughing at his petulant face when I call him out on his superfluous enthusiasm, but he starts right up again like I hadn't made fun of him in the next second.

"…And so, when you place your chakra into the seal and different characters, the ink absorbs the physical and spiritual power to then transmit it into meaning and reality. It's almost as if you drew blueprints for a building, put in power and provide stone, and the building then appears!" If Minato wasn't such a put-together person, I could imagine drool dripping out of his mouth just _talking _about seals.

"Wow… we don't have chakra where I'm from," I exclaim hesitantly, lightly biting my lip and averting my eyes. "We travel with machines called cars and fly with planes. The only time we can breathe fire is through a gun called a flamethrower." Seeing his wide-eyed expression full of curiosity, I smile wryly, unable to hold it back. "Yeah! Electricity is a huge resource back home! It powers everything!" I proclaim with a knowing nod.

He gawks at me, eyes burning with interest that beg me to continue. And so I do. I continue to recount "my" world, inciting smiles of wonder, scowls of disgust, and looks of confusion in the man before me. Every once in a while he would interject with a comparison from his own home or a question that I may or may not have been able to answer, but his interest remained undying and I had nothing else to do but indulge in it and his company.

I have no idea how long we talked, as time wasn't a part of my reality anymore. Without even Circadian rhythms to define the days, there was no way I could tell a second from a minute from an hour. All I knew is that we talked for longer than humanly possible about where we were from and who we had known and what we had done, and this time I took his experiences in stride as he expressed them solemnly. He tells me it was his duty and how he protected the ones he cared for like my own military back home, and I wouldn't disrespect that.

I smile warmly as Minato laughs politely at my retelling of a time when my sister burnt her hair with the straightener. Hesitating, I realize that this was the first time I had thought about my family and home in ages.

Finally, I bring back my life and things I can never have again to the forefront of my mind. A tear slips down my cheek, causing Minato to hesitate.

"I… I apologize. You haven't been here so long, yet I'm making you talk about your family and home." He stutters, obviously uncomfortable if his look of extreme consternation has anything to say.

Chuckling and wiping my nose, I shake my head. "No," I whisper, chuckling, "it feels good to talk about them. I've been ignoring them for a long time." I wipe my nose callously on my sleeve.

He nods his head, staying silent as my soft sobs come and go, politely giving me my space to mourn and let go. His intense blue eyes bear protectively into my form, reassuring me. After a while, I wipe face boorishly and blows my tongue at Minato, smirking playfully. He smiles in return.

"So I've been wondering, Little Blanchette…"he trails off, asking permission to continue wordlessly.

"Hm?" I mumble, ignoring the annoying nickname he picked for me.

"How did you get here if you have no seals or chakra in your world?"

Pausing momentarily, my face turns bright red and I bolt to my feet, his cloak being thrown to the side forgotten. "Lauren that _bitch_! She killed me so she could get into Medical school!" Before he could say or do anything, I round on Minato. "My sister was _playing_ with some weird voodoo shit and accidently sold my soul to get accepted to a university! Minato, that is so _cruel_!" I screech, pouting and seething at the same moment. Stamping my foot, I bring my thumbnail to my mouth and nibble angrily, muttering expletives and annoyances under my breath.

Clearing his throat, Minato waves fretfully at me. After I take in his worried and confused expression, my anger calms calmed down into something more akin to resigned antipathy and acceptance. "My sister was messing around with some weird make-believe magic and accidently got it to work, I guess," I mumble noncommittally with a huff. I drop back down in front of him, crossing my legs.

He smiles nervously at my sudden change in mood and I snort. _This man probably has killed innumerable people in his lifetime, yet is afraid of _me_ of all people_, I reflect with a roll of my eyes. I do my best not to flinch when thinking of him killing people. I'm dead myself, like him and the others from his world, yet they don't flinch or cry or blubber. _That's just me,_ I think grumpily.

Suddenly, Minato's eyes widen. I look at him inquisitively as he mutters a quick "Excuse me" before crossing his legs and closing his eyes to meditate.

I tilt my head to the side and watch him curiously in silence for a while before forcing body to shut down in a faux version of sleep.

I open my eyes to white for the third time, and sigh. _Shit, I was hoping that it was all a dream and this time I'd wake up to reality._

"You've been out for a while." I turn to find Minato a bit away from me, stretching.

I grunt in answer. "What are you doing," I ask inquiringly, seeing him do a couple squats.

Looking again at me, he states, "Oh, just going to go through a couple dances."

"You dance?" I parrot, incredulous. Sure he is lithe and graceful like a dancer, but really?

"I don't dance," he articulates, confused. "I go through dances. You know, stances and stuff." I stare at him for a few moments in silence before waving his answer off. Knowing our short but lively history, it will just confuse me more to think about it.

Instead I order, "Just show me. No language barrier and stuff."

Shrugging, Minato gets into a weird stance I've never seen before and the next thing I know, he disappears. Gone. Staring for a few moments, rubbing my eyes, and believing I had gone completely senile, I yell, "What the fuck?"

Appearing out of nowhere just as he disappeared, the man seems to trip on nothing to my left. Frowning with worried eyes, I step towards him before his head shoots up to give me an admonishing glare. "Girls shouldn't say those words," he chides seriously, standing an approaching me. When he finally halts his steps, Minato moves his hands down to his hips and gives me a stern look.

I gawk at him, unbelieving of what was happening. Who is he? My mom? I growl, crossing my arms, and retort, "And you shouldn't just up and fucking disappear! I though you said you couldn't use that chakra stuff here!" Seething, I glare at him right back, dancing triumphantly in my head when his cheek twitches the moment I swear.

Minato sighs, loosening the stiffness in his shoulders and rubs his hand through his unruly hair. After a moment, he replies, "I can't. I was just practicing my dances."

"Nobody dances that fast!" I yell in frustration, throwing my hands to the air.

His cheek twitches again. Forcing his lips to a strained smile, Minato repeats, "I told you. I don't dance. It's like forms for martial arts! And _I _do my dances that fast!"

I sit down, glaring at the obviously frustrated man. With a huff I cross my arms.

"Impossible."

"Yet I do it anyway, Little Blanchette."

Glowering at him through narrowed eyes, I growl, "Fine. Continue."

With a small bow, Minato backs away, lowers himself again, and disappears. Concentrating, I can barely follow a yellow flash that zigzags and dips and jumps. Often times, I lose complete sight of it. For a while, I stare, mesmerized by the sheer incredulity of it.

"Teach me?" she whisper to the air, once again losing the miniscule difference in my surroundings that signifies Minato.

"Why not? But I'll warn you, it'll be hard to learn the Dividing Palm of Super Speed Strikes!" Screaming, I fall back as the man materializes in front of me. "If you can't even see me, then you're in for a_ lot_ of training, Little Blanchette. Think you can handle it?" He was teasing me.

With a sneer at his politely mocking smile, I choose to ignore the ridiculous name. Instead I answer, "I'm tougher than I look. I'll live."

"If you say so, Little Blanchette!" He offers a hand to me, which I accept. With a swift pull, I'm flying up to my feet, stumbling at the landing.

Pouting with an irritated glare, I mutter, "God _please_ stop calling me 'Little Blanchette!' My name is Sheigh. Just call me Sheigh!"

I almost guffaw when Minato's face lights up bright red, nodding shyly.

Months pass, or maybe years, but all I can say is that I'm glad to have another person in here with me. Through our talks and "training sessions," which honestly resembled hell more than anything, time didn't pass by too slowly or excruciatingly.

Minato taught me a lot about his world, even past the militaristic and political parts that seemed to consume his life while alive. It was actually fascinating, learning the legends of his world and their customs. When talking about my own home with its machinery and crude materialistic culture I felt almost… embarrassed.

That being said, he seemed as interested in my home as I was his, surprisingly. I personally find home much more boring than the Elemental Nations, after I got past the whole culture based on military and killing. I suppose it's just a different way of life, though I'm not sure I could ever live that way.

Maybe, if I were forced.

I hold back a shudder, instead concentrating on my breathing to make it even and fluid. Standing next to the tall man, I watch his movement's carefully. _Flow… flow… hand down, elbow bent, breath… palm thrust. Leg lift-_

I make a face as my leg barely makes it past my navel, groin straining against the movements in slight pain. Grunting, I refuse to mess up now and try forcing it as far up as Minato's. _No! Minato's finally let me practice with him, I can't…_ Pulling a constipated face, I grab my leg and try forcing it up farther and farther, breathing heavily and breaking the calm of the dance.

Sensing my troubles, Minato looks back at me and laughs. With a cheery grin and teasing tone, he inquires, "You aren't flexible at all, are you?"

I grunt, still trying to force the leg higher under his politely amused gaze. With a defeated sigh, I just leave me leg at that angle and continue with the dance, back to calming my breaths. "I've been stretching."

Acting as if he hadn't heard me, Minato continues on innocently, "And you are so slow… I bet an academy student could beat you!" Glinting eyes gives his joke away.

My eye twitches at the insult, even if he was just teasing. Minato had already debriefed me on the shinobi rankings. To be compared to an academy student when he was a Shadow… I clench my fists and grit my teeth before beginning to clack my nails in frustration.

Noticing the warning signs—no matter how slow or unskilled I am, all females are scary when angered—Minato hastily adds, "But your reflexes are actually quite good! We just need to train your body more!"

With a sigh, I fall to my back, laying on the ground. Covering my eyes with my arm, I moan, "I'll never be as good as you, Mr. Minato."

With a chuckle, I can hear the slight wisps of wind shift as the man settles beside me.

"Maybe not now, but even I had to train for years to get here. And I either got to where I am now, or the people I loved died because I lacked the strength to save them," he states lightly, despite the solemn subject.

I recall the images he described to me before, of his battles and hardships. I gulp, not envying his past life one bit. Even now, I am learning his dances not to protect or stay alive, but because it was on a whim. It is something to do and focus on. Besides, it was super cool to see Minato disappear like that. But his training was out of necessity.

"Minato…" I whisper hesitantly. I didn't need to remove my arm to know that he is looking at me intently, already listening. "How did you die?"

It had been bugging me for ages. Was it gruesome? Painful? Did he burn up to a crisp in an enemy's ninja technique? Or maybe they just threw a knife at him and ended it quickly. God, it must have been horrible to die.

He is silent a long while, making me start to regret my question. Uncomfortably, I shift and mumble, "So-sorry… I shouldn't have-"

"It was my son's birthday," he manages to get out hoarsely, "He had just been born. But my wife you see, she was the village's Power of Human Sacrifice, holding back the nine-tailed fox demon for years."

I nod slowly, having already been told of the nine demons and how they were sealed into containers. But I never knew his wife was one… in fact I never knew Minato was married, only assumed so. He had never talked about his family just as I hadn't talked about mine since the first time. It was almost like a silent agreement.

"The Uzumaki were genius seal masters, creating the most formidable human sacrifice seal to hold back the demon within Kushina, but there was a weakness." I wait patiently, just as he had waited patiently for me all that time ago. "When giving birth, the seal becomes translucent and the host must exert a large amount of willpower to hold the beast back so it doesn't escape. Somehow, somebody got hold of this information." Minato takes a deep breath, relaxing his tensed muscles in an attempt to calm down.

"When she gave birth, a man came to forcibly pull the demon fox from her seal, which would most likely kill her."

"But you stopped him, right Mr. Minato? You said it yourself, you were the Fire Shadow, leader of your village and strongest ninja!" I say with a light smile, trying to encourage him.

The silence that meets me is the answer to my question. My smile falls and I bite my lip, never allowing my eyes to leave him even as he looks away from me. He starts up again:

"Using his Copy Wheel Eye, the man controlled the fox and made it attack the village as he himself attempted to kill Naruto and Kushina. I had to save them. I had to save the village." His voice is deathly quiet, but smooth. No tremor of hesitation. "I couldn't kill the man nor could I save Kushina, but she and I saved our son and the village. I sealed a part of the fox into him and a part into me with her help. In order to do this, I had to offer my soul to the Shinigami as payment."

He sighs and I can tell he's forcibly keeping his breaths calm. He's looking away, into a faraway place I can't get to.

With a frown and hesitation, I open my mouth again. Curse my curiosity, but I have to know. I recall all the times he was meditating, staring into space. Seemingly talking to himself. "Is… the fox still here? With you?" I ask quietly.

Looking straight into my eyes, he replies unflinchingly. "Yes."

I nods, standing up and wiping off the invisible dust that is never present in the Shinigami's stomach. Squaring my shoulders, I reach out to him with a solemn look. "Well you're a hero then. Your son should be proud to call you Father," I say without hesitation. I know my words are true and believe in them completely.

Grabbing my hand, he smiles at me gratefully and stands up with the momentum of my pull. He doesn't go flying like I did when he pulled me up, but he finds himself on his feet all the same. Smiling at him, I settle back into the first stance of the dance he was teaching me, waiting until he joined in. Then, as if someone counted down, we simultaneously began to move.

I never asked about his death or family again, after that day, deciding to let sleeping lions lay. Nothing would come out of it. Instead, I bugged the living crap out of him to continue training and teaching me, busying his mind by busying me. And by now, it must have been at least a couple years or more since I had started training with the man I had first thought crazy.

I'm not anywhere close to his level, but at least now I could mostly follow his movements when he went at full speed now and am flexible and fast enough to be praised as "genin-level proficient." I always scowl when Minato said that.

Making a high kick that smoothly went all the way up to my head, I use the momentum to flip backwards and twist. Blowing my long hair out of my eyes, I paused to calm my breathing for a moment. Despite the time passed, my hair never grew. I can only fathom a guess that none of my features have strayed from my sixteen year old features either. I asked Minato about this once, and he went on a long and confusing spiel about how our physical bodies were now gone, so we were left with only our spiritual energy which initially mimicked that physical body and… Well, basically our soul didn't change in form if it isn't linked to the physical self, which is exactly why my arm never healed either.

Rolling my eyes, I continue through the movements, which consist of a lot of dashing forwards and agile movements to dodge then strike. Putting a particular amount of speed into one sprint that ended with a series of blows, I ask out of breath, "When can I finally fight against you?"

Minato, meditating next to the area I'm using to dance, replies without missing a beat or opening his eyes, "When I finally won't destroy you."

I scowl, and he definitely knows it because he then chuckles.

Moving in for a quick jab followed by a swift heel kick, I drop low to the ground and sprung up with an angry open palm. With my invisible enemy flying, I make a mad dash several feet in front of me and angle my hand down in a slicing motion, then the other a stabbing one. I then twist and deliver a fiery and irate blow with my foot.

Minato's eyes were now open, watching my barely restrained movements with a frown. He opens his mouth, but I wave him off.

"I know, too much anger and extra motion. I need to calm and collect myself," I speak for him with a smirk.

He looks at me deadpan for a moment before mumbling, "As an old friend might have said, you are a troubling student."

"So you said," I pant good-naturedly. Taking a moment to calm my breaths down, I then swing another leg high before performing a back hand spring and kick. Without stopping, I question, "You combined this with nature transformation, right?"

"Wind." He specifies, watching my movements carefully. Compared to him, they are very sluggish, but for any beginner they are quite good, especially for someone who started with my background. "Lower your leg more with that kick. At higher speeds you'll become unbalanced."

I answer with my usual grunt. "How does that help?" I inquire, speaking of the element.

Minato understands what I am asking about, and replies, "I told you that there are five elements, yes?"

"Wind, fire, water, earth, lightning. Like the countries," I answer robotically, not missing a beat in my stances.

He smiles. "Yes, like the countries. But each elements has specific qualities. Where lightning pierces and earth deals blunt blows offensively, wind cuts," he lectures, standing and stretching.

"Ah." Another jab, a dash, and duck, kick. Sweat starts pouring into my eyes, stinging them. I whip my head to the side and cause the droplets to go flying.

"Have I explained to you the theory of chakra manipulation?" He queries, still observing intently.

"Only a million times, nerd," I call back with a guffaw, jumping sideways.

He laughs nervously, scratching his head. "Sorry about that."

I shrug, causing him to reprimand my form. With a scowl and a sideways glance, I continue, "Was wind your element?"

Shaking his head, he answers. "Lightning, though wind was a close second."

I acknowledge his answer, ending the dance with a sweeping motion of the hand, neck level.

These dances were getting comfortable, almost therapeutic. I suppose it is close to meditation of the physical sort.

"You know, with all your fanboy lectures, I think I know more about your home than you do, Minato!" I joke, wiping off the sweat from my forehead. How a person could sweat when they were only a spirit, I'd never know.

I throw Minato a shit-eating grin.

"You talk plenty yourself…" he mutters, raising a brow.

With an innocent smile, I say, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't, Little Blanchette."

Groaning, I walk up to the ninja and poke him in the chest. I rant, "Listen here, Minato. I don't care how powerful you were in the before-life or if you _can _kick my ass, but I've told you a million times-"

Losing my words as they sputter out of my mouth, my eyes widen as a tear in the whiteness materializes behind my companion. I watch as tiny lines spread wider and wider, forming a horizontal cut in our surroundings.

"Little Blanchette?" Minato questions, gazing at me worriedly.

But I'm too bust watching, speechless, as the dark grey face of the Shinigami shows in the hole, smirking with its yellowed fangs. Glowing red eyes pierce into me, but they're not… focusing on me? No, they are focused on Minato's back as he tries to talk to me and snap me out of my trance. Then, an arm reaches through the stitch, making way for Minato swiftly with purpose.

I act before thinking. In the span of a few seconds, my arm finds its way to Minato's side. Pushing him away, I scream, "Minato watch out!" I'm barely able to register his shocked face, blue eyes widening in distress.

"Sheigh!"

As the white surrounding me disappears, the sight of a yellow flash approaches me and I think, Now, _he calls me Sheigh._ I allow an icy numbness to overcome my body. It's not like I can die twice, right? With a small, gentle smile, my eyes fall shut to accept whatever kind of shit I just got myself into.

It doesn't take me long to almost regret that decision.

Screaming in agony, it feels as if my soul is being torn apart, peeled away in layers before flying and reattaching themselves in another place. When I think the horrifying grinding is done, the process repeats as strip by strip my body is being torn apart and stitches back together. Stabilizing, the frozen numbness bursts when heat blossoms in my chest and lungs, tormenting pain wreaking havoc. Pain, something I haven't felt for years.

My cry gurgles as blood rises through my throat and remains stagnant at the bottom of my throat. A burning agony splits my head, running down into my arm and splitting into several tendrils that wrap around my forearm. With a crack, the pain in my arm and my chest bursts and my eyes shoot open wide. Mouth in an 'o' and a silent gurgling scream, I claw my good arm to my left thigh, where another crack can be heard and bone pierces through my skin.

My sight is swimming with black and sparkling spots as color flies by in blurs. It halts, spots still dancing but the background solidifying into brown. My world is no longer a stark white abyss.

Through the pain and writhing and helpless screaming, I do my best to push through the pain long enough to focus and see where I am, but I'm choking on my own blood and my vision is hazy. With a sharp twist to try and look around, a scream tears through my trachea and past the blood, which is spit down onto my shirt and the wooden floor I now stare at. Tears of anguish rush down and mingle with my blood on the ground.

Pain. Like nothing I had ever felt before… Well, actually it was comparable to the second I had been hit by the car before I died. With a lightning bolt of pain jolting up my spine and to my head and limbs, I puke my stomach's contents and the blood clogging my airway, trachea and esophagus spasming. Gasping pitifully, I realize that despite my previous thoughts, this pain is much, much worse.

Wait, is that a voice?

Gritting my bloodied teeth, I fight through the pain to look up and towards the sound. Blurry, I notice a figure towering over me. A long tan… dress? With a thick purple belt that tied into a bow in the back and long black hair that pooled to the person's back.

A woman? Did she hear me scream? I writhe in pain. I'm dead, of course she didn't hear my screams.

I blink rapidly and fight off the advancing black with a yelp of torment. But this pain… it is all so real and nothing like the phantom aches I got in the Shinigami's stomach.

A quick quirking of the head towards me and my eyes widen. She had to have looked right at me!

Attempting to garble my cries into words, I mouth, "Help," wincing at the stabbing pain in my head and ribs.

I can't see much more to the person's face than its deathly pallor, but I can hear a warbled voice I can't understand. Smooth, calm, almost…

I feel suddenly light-headed and my vision swings again, ribs killing with the extra movement. Her face clears enough to see pale lips set in a scowl and eyes narrow—definitely in my direction—before she turns her gaze towards something else.

I blearily follow with my own eyes.

I gurgling, blood-curdling scream rips through my throat and I manage enough energy to push myself back with my good leg and arm. I choke, tears falling heavier down my face and I forget about the pain for a moment. I would much rather feel as if I were choking on my own blood right now.

There lying next to me as the woman bends down at the knees, was a body. I don't have a good vantage point, but even through the blurriness and my position on the floor, I can see the clean slice, digging deep into the lifeless man's stomach. It was deep, cutting into the entrails that now popped from his abdomen and spewed blood onto the floor to entangle with hers. His dead and cold eyes stare at me unblinkingly, lifeless. They stare right through me.

Sobbing noisily, the woman's head turns toward me.

"Help," I whisper hoarsely, refusing to look away from the man's eyes. His brown hair is matted red.

The woman's hair shakes back and forth in a motion as if shaking her head and I hear a low chuckle. My body moves away from her involuntarily at the sound, and more pain blooms all over my body. I touch something warm and fleshy with the heel of my hand. Forcing my hurting self to look behind me, there's another body.

I scream, helpless, my body shaking in uncontrollable sobs. I don't notice the rise and fall of this man's chest, but I do notice the woman lackadaisically patting the corpse on the cheek and stand, turning to look at me. Or more probably to look through me and at the other body.

More words I can't quite pick up fall from her mouth. Closing my eyes as nausea hits and blood begins to fill my mouth again, I struggle through the pain again with the help of adrenaline. Of course she couldn't see me, I am dead and might even be dying again.

I let the darkness behind my eyes cover me and the woman's awkwardly deep voice comes again. Whimpering in agony, I try to calm my _damn_ breathing so that my _damn _ribs won't hurt so much, but I know it is useless. Just like it was useless when I had gotten hit by that car.

Crying hopelessly in pain, I resign myself to an early second death, ignoring the voice of a second person addressing the woman and the loud thump next to me. The two voices speak for a few moments as I begin to feel tingling up my legs and in my arms and eventually disappear. By the time half my body is cold and the rest of it numb, I groggily pry apart my eyelids to the light of wherever my wandering and tormented soul found itself.

I don't even hesitate as I discover myself peering into the many, hollow eyes of demons in a wall in front of me, their fangs protruding from their black lips and sickly palate of skin colors surrounding me. I can't even find the strength to wonder or care. I am dead and dying again, there's not much more that can be done to me.

Sweeping a weak gaze across the demonic faces fading into the darkness behind them, I latch onto one specific demon, glaring down at me. However, unlike the rest, this one is pure white like the Shinigami's stomach I used to live in with Minato. Never thought I could, but now I'm missing the disturbingly bland place.

With the darkness consuming me and the faces of demons advancing, I lift one anaesthetized arm towards the white demon. My fingers brush against the beast's cool skin when the black overwhelms my vision and senses.

**Hope you all like! It's unbeta'ed and a little rough around the edges, but I like it :) The time in the Shinigami's stomach is supposed to seem a little distorted and I hope that came off well… but yeah! It's been a while since I wrote in first person so forgive me if it is yuck. There's two or three things in here I like to think I'm sneaky about buttttt xD **

**So! What do you guys think is happening to our little Sheigh? :D I'd honestly like to hear whether you guys would like to prefer her to end up in Konoha or perhaps saved by a group of travelers or even another village. It's my biggest debate for the story and next chapter so please help a girl out and say what you'd prefer?**

**THANK YOU FOR READING and if you would be so kind, please review and tell me what you all think!**

**Koby out :)**


	2. My Shadow's The Only One That Walks

**So I know a ton of my readers will hate me but… I LOVE Sheigh and the crap she's being put through here (I know, I'm sadistic) so I'm gonna write a chapter or two of this before updating Contracted, at the very least to set the tone and timeframe for this fic.**

**Just a warning, this chapter may seem a little rough to some people if they are squeamish about death and such but… I wanted it realistic. Especially Sheigh's responses to everything. Too many writers have self-inserts or world-traveling OCs that just ****_accept_**** the fact that people kill daily and think nothing of it in the Narutoverse which, to me, is absolutely disgusting if you've actually been thrown into the world. I'd say most of us faced with such a reality would flip the fuck out.**

**I have explanations for a few things coming up and a little bit of interesting stuff in this chapter so please enjoy!**

**Oh well, enough ranting here! Happy reading!**

**Chapter Title: My Shadow's The Only One That Walks Beside Me**

**Correctly recognize the song the title is from and you'll get a special mention! The first to get it may or may not get a prize :) Come one, this one and the first should be relatively easy!**

***Don't Own***

By the time I awaken, I am so amazingly sore. It is almost as if every one of my cells are protesting just being there and me being roused. Groaning, I refuse to open my eyes and see where I ended up this time. _Will I meet someone like Minato again, or will they be mean and vicious? Will I see anyone at all?_

I nibble at my lower lip, refusing to moan at the movement. At least this pain is nowhere near the agony I had felt earlier, when I was first transported to this new Hell. Is this what I get for not being a devout Catholic? Was I even baptized?

I exhale and roll over, curling in on myself. I don't want to wake up. I don't want to open my eyes to another mysterious place I know nothing about with no one to talk to. Stupid sister for cursing me… stupid Shinigami for eating me. Stupid Minato for standing there stupidly for that stupid Shinigami to grab!

Do I regret my decision, though? No, of course not. I know Minato would have done the same for me if he were in my position, and he'd do it gladly, with a smile always on his face. He is simply that annoyingly chivalrous.

"Idiot," I whisper with a scowl, not knowing whether I am talking about myself for thinking such crappy thoughts or admonishing Minato for his idiotic carefree attitude. I do my best to ignore the fire lacing my throat in pain and the coppery taste of blood as I speak.

_Weird, _I ponder forlornly, _pain was becoming so foreign in that other place, I almost feel alive now that it's back. _I chuckle humorlessly, coughing up dried flakes of russet. Great, now I'm associating pain with life. How sick can I get?

I bite my lip hard and burrow in on myself more.

I lay there, trembling for what seems like hours to me as I fight back the tears sieging the corners of my eyes. No peace even in death. Whimpering, I remember those dead eyes, milky and staring right through me with his stomach…

I hold back the vomit at the last minute. The tears fall when the acrid taste tantalizes my mouth.

"Idiot."

I allow the sobs to shake my body for a while, coughing up red flakes every so often. Everything is just so painful. _Not that it matters, _I think, _I'm still dead._

It's with this thought that I pause, forcing down another jarring cry. I'm _dead,_ it's not like I can…

I tremble for just another second and steel myself. I can't change anything anyway, especially not by sniveling here like a baby and crying.

_What am I, eight?_

Growling, I refuse to give into my pain or depression any longer and tear my eyes open, sitting up. Ignoring my screaming muscles, I blink owlishly at the sight in front of me.

The area in front of me was full with rows upon rows of faces. Not just any faces, but those depicting several monsters with furrowed brows and evil, angry eyes. Their teeth protrude from between their lips in an angry or sad scowl and huge noses poke from the clay surface. On some of them, horns stick from the top of the masks while on others spokes of hair are glued and run down beneath the chins.

After a minute of adrenaline and hyperventilating, fear and panic once again coursing through me, my mind finally clears. They weren't faces or living beings, but rather masks hanging as decoration. My sore and tired muscles relax.

_Did the demons who took me wear these masks? _I remember, the last thing I saw was these malicious faces in the forthcoming dark, advancing on me in silence while I passed out. I blink residual tears from my eyes as I study them more closely with curiosity. They truly resemble that Shinigami Minato was always going on about…

A sudden breeze brushes against my skin and I shiver, wrapping my bare arms around myself. _Wait… bare? But wasn't I wearing my hoodie?_

Looking down, I let out the girliest shriek I can manage, hugging my knees to my chest in an attempt to cover up.

"Why am I _naked_!" I screech, blush radiating down my neck and to the top of my-

I blink in panic, pulling my knees even closer. Was my chest _smaller_? I mean, I never necessarily had a large chest, but why was the afterlife so cruel! Scooching my bare bum backwards in an attempt to get away from the mask's staring eyes—I swear they are checking me out!—I freeze.

Feeling something cool under me, I turn my head down to study whatever was in my hand. I gasp, holding back a cry in surprise.

There, in mask form, was the face of the demon I reached out for as the others approached. It is as white as snow and isn't scuffed anywhere nor marred with the blood that stained the floor underneath my fingers. Instead, its bleached features stare straight up and into me, smirking smugly. I shiver slightly and clench the thing's white ribbon in my palm. Why did they give it to me? Or maybe I stole it?

I blanch, hoping that isn't the case. A demon chasing me to retrieve its god-awful mask doesn't seem fun in the slightest. And maybe they stole my clothes in retaliation.

Going against my body's, and my mind's, protests, I stumble to my feet, dragging the mask with me to find somewhere to place it. Keeping one arm over my exposed breasts, I study the room around me, looking up towards the ceiling to see high wooden rafters, masks rising all the way to the top on the wall, but there are no empty spots.

No windows reside in the oak walls either; the light is coming from the open door behind me. Instead, all the space taken up by either those creepy masks or scrolls depicting pictures of beings wearing the masks. A couple scrolls held foreign characters I can't read, artistically rendered with what appears to be thick strokes of a brush.

I narrow my eyes. _Great, another foreign place, _I snarl in my mind with tears of frustration pricking at me again, face scrunching up in annoyance. _Why can't I be transported to the Hell that takes in _Americans? _And with clothes!_

I bite my lip so hard it bleeds. The blood pools down my chin and drips to the floor. A light _plop_ reaches my ears as it lands.

I take in a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves and to halt the oncoming tears. _Calm, Sheigh. It's not worth thinking about_. I could have sworn the afterlife was where you'd find everlasting peace and paradise, not blood and confusion and even more death. I grit my teeth, wipe my quivering mouth.

And I take a step.

My body freezes as the ground under my bare foot _squishes_.

_Don't look down,_ I mentally squeak, face contorting into a grimace of pain. I bite my lip for the hundredth time in an attempt at distraction or control—who really knows—and my eyes water. _Oh God, don't look down, please just _don't-!

Staring down at the cream colored, wriggling parasites as they crawled from the hole in his stomach, I can only question to myself: _Has it smelt this putrid the entire time I've been awake?_

And I realize now that, yes, the entire building had a soft, repugnant breeze that had been hugging my body this entire time. It smells like rot and decay, clawing into my nose and forcing itself down my throat, stuffing itself into every orifice of mine that it could find.

I stumble backwards, falling onto my butt painfully and sending a violent jolt of pain up my spine and possibly a few splinters into my skin. The smell is the most revolting thing I have ever smelt, but how could I think about the smell when a _dead body_ with its stomach shredded open is lying _next _to me with its eyes _wide open_ and _staring_ at me with maggots coming out of its _mouth_ and I'm just _sitting _here next to it-!

It doesn't take me long to realize the light-headedness I feel is due to the fact that I'm hyperventilating once again, rapid breaths breaking through my lips in ragged gasps. I hastily bite my bottom lip until I draw more blood to distract myself and take one deep breath.

My stomach lurches unpleasantly and I gag on the air, quickly clasping my mouth shut. Even taking a breath into my mouth makes me want to vomit.

"Why are you just lying there!" I scream at the body, hugging myself in panic. "You're dead, aren't you? Then why are you _lying. There. Dead_?!" My nails dig viciously into my arms and draw blood, my hysteric crying and breathing bouncing off the walls around me, echoing up the walls and back to me ears. I scream and I scream, shaking back and forth and crying. My breathing becomes labored and oh _God_ it begins to hurt to breath and my fingers start to tingle.

He's dead, just like me, yet he's lying there torn apart with maggots feasting on his insides. Shit like this doesn't happen when you're dead! You don't rot or actually feel pain or get tired or _die_ when you're dead!

I can't take my eyes off it, _him. _What makes my own fucking walking corpse different than his rotting one, lying there as maggot's fodder? He was dead like me and he _wasn't moving_.

I soon comprehend the fact that I'm staring at his entrails, bursting from his abdomen and spilling over to the floor so I quickly turn my head to the other side of the room, hoping that object permanence wasn't a thing in this particular Hell.

Bad choice.

I choke on another frenzied screech.

Laying not even five feet away was another man, throat slit and curled towards me as if sleeping peacefully. The two men are sleeping on a bed of caked blood and maggots. They are dead and unmoving, but I am dead and _moving_.

Unconsciously grasping the demon mask in my hands, I use all four limbs to crawl up to my feet and sprint out the door. I don't give my energy to crying and wailing anymore or thought to my bare skin, instead focusing my breathing and willpower into _moving the fuck away_ from that place, whatever it is.

My bare feet beat heavily on the overgrown path I find myself on, tearing mercilessly through weeds and flowers alike. Several birds fly off into the air as I pass, disturbing their homes with my frantic run. A squirrel scurries into my way, and I just scream at it as I continue to race. What screaming at a squirrel accomplishes, I'll never know, but I just can't help my rampaging self.

Branches whip my face and thorns tear my legs, but I don't care. I don't notice. All I can see are those pale faces and all I can smell is that horrible stench…

I slow down, panting and sweating and weeping, wiping at my eyes with the heel of my hand as my feet calm down to an unsteady walk. I press my palm deep into my sockets, willing them to plug up the flooding tears falling from my eyes to no avail.

My legs feel like they've caught on fire, just as with my chest and lungs, and it becomes so painful to breath in and out, almost as if my throat is closing up. Oh, never mind, that last one is just me about to vomit.

This time I don't stop the rising bile, allowing myself to retch into the bushes by my side, tears and snot joining it in the dirt. Trembling, I crash to the ground and spit the last dredges of acid from my mouth. I clutch the mask to my chest and curl in on myself in the hopes that the outside world would suddenly bleach itself and turn into the unmarred pristine white of the Shinigami's stomach. I sit there and sob, the darkness behind my eyes unable to mask the images haunting my mind.

I stay there for a moment in the quiet forest, blocking the path, but I am too stunned to move. Listlessly, I turn my stare up at the green canopies instead and allow the trickling sun to blind my vision white, however the light forces my eyes to close. In the darkness, again I envision their eyes.

My eyes crash open in fear.

I try to embrace the numbness that came easy within the Death God's stomach, but the pain etching what feels like life into my skin brings me back down and grounds me. What is going on?

They are dead. They were killed… I glance at my torn palms, sliced open from my running and flooding with deep red. Dried rivers of blood travel from my bare stomach and down my legs. I just notice the amount of blood caking my skin.

Killed.

But even that is part of life. People murdered in America, and soldiers killed other for their beliefs and countries all the time. There is no difference from that-!

_Was this what Minato was talking about, when describing his world?_

A terrible shudder flies through my body at the thought.

"But, he was always smiling," I whimper, pushing my voice through my bawling. Minato's polite smile flashes across my mind, warm blue eyes sparkling with kindness. And that was his life, what he'd gone through. Sure he told stories, but…

Nothing he described could have been more eye-opening than actual reality.

"I spent my time complaining about schoolwork and bossy friends," I moan, digging my face deeper into the crevice my knees create, "and he had gone through _this _every day of his life…"

Suddenly, I hiccup, getting a mouthful of rancid aftertaste of puke. I squeeze my eyelids tightly, as if it will close my eyes even to my mental images. I clench my fingers around the mask, knuckles turning as white as its surface.

"I'm so _weak!_"

I pound one clamped fist against the dirt ground in frustration. Why am I so pathetic? I growl pitifully at myself once my sobbing is recedes. All that is left is the burning tiredness from running away. It only fuels my anger. With a growl that probably sounds more like a tortured cry, I pull on all my strength and slam my hand into the ground.

A small dent forms in the dirt under my fist.

I feel the foreign surge rise up from my stomach in response, dissimilar from the urge to vomit I am becoming so familiar with. No, this feeling was hot and different, igniting a bolstering burn through my veins, spiking through my body. It throbs for a while, sweltering at my hand, as if forcing itself to move through me, but it proceeds to circulate even to my fingertips. I feel as though my body is thrumming with unknown life.

I look at my hand, stained salty with tears and blood, in order to check to see if I am glowing. That's what it feels like almost; if glowing had a physical feeling, it would definitely be what I am going through now. But my hand was just the same as ever, if not mucked with dirt, tears, and dry blood.

Slowly, it mostly recedes, though a sensitive hums blushes my insides as if reassuring me that it is still there, with me. Oddly enough, the stinging within my body is almost… comforting. I concentrate on the sensation, distracting my mind from the haunting images imprinted into my mind, however the burst of power doesn't return.

I blink slowly, taking my time to allow the blurring scenery focus. I close my fist and stand, calming my breaths to a normal rate. With resolve, my head slowly spins to check my surroundings.

At the very least my weak self could find out where I am and snoop around a bit. _I'm not completely worthless_, I tell myself with a determined scowl. _People died, but so did I and I got over it. There's no use in crying over spilt milk!_

I flinch at that. Maybe thinking of dead people as spilt milk is too much of an understatement, but…

Setting my face resolutely and pointedly ignoring the fatigue in my legs, I march up to a tree noisily, determined to become more than a sniveling girl, lost in the woods. If Minato could live through these hardships, so can I. Whining gets a girl nowhere in life.

Or, I guess in this case, death.

With the new focus and clarity provided to me, I can now _see _it. The flowing tendrils snaking up the truck from the ground, where I can see the faintly glowing amber pooling in the ground before being pulled up into what appears to be roots.

Well, seeing and an abstract term. It is more like I can feel the intricate swirls of energy circulating through the tree's body. I sense the lines and patterns, spiraling like connected concentric circles all the way up the oak's trunk in a steady pulse.

I trace my finger along the lines of the bark in amazement, eyes widening in curiosity as I feel the amber energy reaching out to me.

In my mind, I can see a perfectly still forest outside of a light breeze. A squirrel scurries across from me, and I feel a heaviness on my shoulders. Small pinpricks of pain pierce there, and a loud twittering of birdcalls dance down to my ears, as if the birds were right there on my-

I snap my hand away from the tree and onto my shoulder where the slight sting still remains. Nothing is there.

Still staring at the light brown wisps somehow flowing through the solid tree like liquid, I whisper, "I could have sworn there was a bird right there…" Confused, I wipe my hand down my face and wipe off dried tears and blood. "Now I'm dead _and _crazy," I murmur, shivering.

Sighing painfully, I step back from the tree and turn around in the hope of finding a way to go on the overgrown path. Instead, however, brightness greets me. Several trees are dispersed within my sight with even more fading into the horizon, but they are all highlighted by amber twirls that contrasts the dull bark. A small rabbit bounds through the bright beacons, highlighted a by beaming yellow lines along its furred muscle. Another one follows, a blinding yellow bullet. Like, really blinding.

My mouth dried as my eyes zoom back and forth between trees and flowers, lined with a golden brown, and vivid yellow critters scrambling around. Added onto these striking streaks are dots of fuchsia, zooming across my sight. The glow grew sluggishly at first, leisurely building in intensity until it scorches my eyes. Brighter and brighter, dull colors soon overlapping and merging with layers of lines or colors.

Stumbling, a head blooms into a pulsating ache that jolts all the way down to my eyes, which sear in more pain.

"Damnit!" I yelp, cradling my head in my hands, "Where am I? This _cannot_ be normal!" Crouching low to the ground, I squint my eyes in the hope that either the pain recedes or the lights. Neither happens.

I refuse to close my eyes again, to see their bodies lying on wooden floors stained red. I don't want to see that again.

Taking deep and slow breaths, my mind speeds. _Ok, I'm no longer in that stomach, and am now stuck in a random place where I'm seeing things and dead people are dying and everything is pain! _I wince as a particularly excruciating pulse travels down to my eyes. _I wake up naked to this place which is full of demon's who take of their faces—masks—to hang on a wall just to _terrify _me. _

I groan in agony, rubbing my temples with one hand.

Bright purple flashes into my view and I literally cannot believe the crappy luck I seem to have delved into. It's just one horrible thing after another, and when I get used to it, shit just keeps getting weirder.

When another bright purple dot runs right into my eyes, I involuntarily scrunch my eyes up in defense and the effect is instantaneous. The sights delivered to me by my eyes disappear into blackness and instead of cold, dying, eyes, several lines still glow in the darkness, a cooling sensation floods through my head.

Thinking quickly, I whip my head around in all directions, testing what this realm shows me. Just like before, there were stacks of brown concentric circles that veered out into what could haphazardly be called roots and branches as well as several other places close to the ground where the amber presents with repeating patterns of a single line with others deviated outwards.

_Leaves?_ I wonder, cautiously opening my eyes only to be slammed with startling luminescence that fuse with the solid objects of the actual, physical plant. The image bludgeons my mind with torturous aches, so I hastily close my eyes once again. Twittering purple dots swirl in the black void under my eyelids as a yellow animals waltzes by.

The shape given to it by the yellow tracings makes it look like a rodent, with a long, rat-like tail. However, it is too large to be a rat, and its standing on its hind legs, and climbing up a tree?

"Squirrel," I say to myself, answering my own question. My face scrunches up in confusion. What was I seeing?

I reach my hand out towards one of the pillars of brown that I am sure is a tree when a light, silvery blue appendage breaks into my line of "sight." It's shaped like a… hand? Focusing on that particular color of energy, I chance once again opening my eyes.

This time, when my eyes open, the glowing fibers aren't there, only solid forms of trees and the occasional animals and zipping bugs. That is, all except for the faint blue glow lining my own hand and arm being held in front of me.

I tap my finger against my thigh, watching the blue move and pulse with the action, as words float up and into my skull without being called: _"Chakra is in everything, Little Blanchette. Plants, animals, bugs, and people all convert spiritual and physical energy into it and utilize it to live, though there are specific differences among species and forms of life. For example, an Eastern grey squirrel, which breeds in May, has chakra that influxes around this time and therefore their chakra matures earlier than that of a red squirrel, which mates in June and whose chakra is more derived from the bulbs of flowers than the acorns of trees… Hey! You were the one who asked about this, so pay attention!"_

I purse my lips at Minato's chiding. "He really was a nagging mother sometimes," I mumble lightly with a chuckle, still observing my limb. I flex my hand and wave it, blue shining with every movement. "So this is… Chakra?" A flare of the humming power inside me is my answer.

_But Chakra isn't something the dead have, _I ponder with consternation. _Minato said it himself, we don't have the physical embodiment for it. _My eyes widen in realization, and unknown emotion flashing within me.

Scrambling through my sore and protesting muscles, I flip my arm so that my palm is up, exposing the underside of my forearm. With unbelieving eyes, I trace the thick wound, now healed and scar tissue, running from two inches above my inner elbow to just inside of my thumb. Instead of two hewed slices of meat, my arm is marked by a thick, white line.

My wound is healed. I have chakra. I touch my hand to my chin where newly dried blood resides. I bleed. I feel _pain_.

I thought I was saving Minato, but in truth I _stole his chance to live again_. With his son, his village!

Burning trails of chakra start to appear in my vision as I feel myself slipping from my control. Gaze darting, I coo in my mind, _Calm, calm. This changes nothing._ But in truth, it has. I feel my face droop in disappointment.

I clench my hands and scowl, concentrating on the colors around me until they fade again. Sighing, I make a note to keep calm and collected, lest I want and gigantic influx of colors and the headache to match. This is not a time to panic. Minato wouldn't want me to beat myself about it, I'm sure.

"No," I say aloud, "There has got to be some catch to this, dead people aren't just brought back to life." My head turns to the ground, where a snow white demon mask lies, partially in the dirt. "There's a reason why I woke up there, and there has got to be a reason that woman was there with two dead people…" A frown etches itself into my face. Was the woman a ninja? Were the other two ninja as well who had one way or another summoned me in an attempt to get Minato?

Why did they want Minato in the first place?

I shake my head with a frustrated growl, small purple blips dotting my view for a second. There is no way I can be sure that I'm actually in the Elemental Nations, or that ninja exist here. Nor can I confirm that Minato was actually their target. Just because I can now somehow see chakra doesn't mean I'm not back in my own world or some other. For all I know, chakra could exist everywhere and people could just be closed to it.

But maybe it would be better if I were in the Elemental Nations, if not Earth. I at least _know_ something about the place Minato came from.

I tap my bloodied hand on my thigh aggressively. My mind is swirling, jumbling in confusion. Thoughts do me no good right now. No, I need to do something and get information, figure out what's going on around me.

With a whimper, I realize I have limited options. No matter the world, I'm sure no one will take kindly to a bloody, naked girl running out from the woods. So I currently need two things: a bath, and clothes.

A bath would be—I shudder with a frown—easy, if I can just find a river. But the only place I know that will have clothes that I don't need to buy? My frown deepens and I tremble, ever so slightly.

"Fuck me."

On the bright side, I wasn't able to run too far away from the temple so walking back isn't a horrible trip. _But then again,_ I mourn, staring at the broken down building. It looked a lot nicer on the inside, but the outside is…lacking to say the least. The roof itself was caved in and the painting is chipped. One of the wooden pillars at the corner is broken, causing the ruined roof.

As I stride towards the place, I also notice the stairs are cracked and broken. In fact, I notice this when my bare foot falls through the second one, splinters and rotten wood ripping into my skin painfully. I wince.

"You know, I kinda miss feeling no pain," I mutter angrily, carefully maneuvering my appendage out of the mess. Unfortunately, I probably wasn't going to be able to get a pair of shoes from the two inside, seeing as they are grown men. I pause in my step, closing my eyes as brown and purple flashes grow steadier in my vision.

And now I'm completely making fun of the fact that I'll be pilfering the very clothes off a dead man's back. Just because I had already died before shouldn't give me that right, everyone deserves peace in death, yet I'll be stealing their last material possessions. Taking a deep breath, the cool porcelain of the mask knocks on my shoulder blades, bringing me back to focus. My fingers ruffle with the white ribbon secured around my neck for a moment as I scowl in disgust.

Calming the lights in my sight, I continue moving. Taking careful strides through the open doors and into the temple, where bugs are sweeping around and blood is dying the ground, I quickly move past the first body. With his shirt cut at the abdomen and maggots festering underneath it, I'd rather be naked than anything.

I glower towards the wall of masks—if they don't belong to demons, then what are they here for?—as I approach the second dead body. Gulping, I kneel next to the man. Dark brown hair, cropped tight to the skull. Full lips turned blue and skin tinted white. A jarring cut at the throat which fortunately drained mostly without touching the clothes.

My breathing picks up to rapid, but I don't allow it to take over me. The panic, I mean, and the guilt. Oh, and did I mention embarrassment?

My cheeks flare improperly as I stare at his long shirt, almost like a short robe and showing a decent amount of skin of his chest.

Disgust bubbling in my stomach, I criticize myself for even thinking about embarrassment. There's a dead person, throat slit, on the ground who I'm stealing from, and I'm _embarrassed_ because I have to take off his shirt? Whether I'm doing this out of necessity or not, I'm taking from the dead! How disgustingly pathetic.

My face droops and my eyes sadden. Mumbling a pitiful apology, I begin to slide the tan cotton material from his shoulders, shivering when my elbow brushes against his cool chest. I can't help my blush, but I do my best to focus on each incremental movement, untying the red sash at the waist and pulling the man's arms out of the sleeves.

Breathing labored and tears falling from my face, I tug at the cloth, attempting to pull it right out from underneath the body. It doesn't budge in the slightest. Gripping tightly at both ends of the shirt, I pull and pull. Yelping, my head smashes into the wall when my hands slip.

"Mother-!" My eye twitches in annoyance as I stumble to my feet. Growling, I shove my hands underneath the corpse and push him to his side, freeing the shirt. I swiftly snatch the robe-like article and sash. I flicker my eyes down for a second, spying pale white abs. With a fiery face, I turn away, now instead facing the disemboweled corpse.

My first instinct is to run again, but my eye catches on something. A purple something.

Tied around the corpse's arm is a purple cloth with a shiny metal plate on it. My eyes widen and I crawl over, being careful to maneuver around the innards and bugs, my torn hands find themselves caressing the frayed clothe. My gaze won't leave the metal plate with a musical note insignia. I might not be able to match the symbol to a country or village, but I still know what this headband means. After all, Minato only talked about his own with pride millions of times.

"Well," I whisper, grazing my hand against the smooth metal, "I know where I am now."

Eyes narrowing, my fingers roam down to the man's legs where a small black pouch lies along with a canteen. I glance at the empty stare and the torn stomach. He won't need any of this stuff now and I, on the other hand, needed all I could get my hands on.

Unhooking the pouch and canteen, I carry the objects over to the other body, which I pat down until I find another pouch, high on the man's right hip.

Taking that one as well, my face scrunches up in consternation. I turn my back on the dead bodies, never sparing a glance. I mumble quietly, "May you find peace, unlike me." And with these words, I leave the bloody temple to search for a source of water.

Which is where I find myself almost an hour later with aching feet and throbbing head. Flashes of bright colors barraged me all the way to the clear river I now sat in, scrubbing scabbed blood from my hair. Using my nails, I pick off the incrusted body fluid from my arms and legs, scrubbing until the skin was raw. Picking underneath my nails, I jump further into the water. Taking a deep breath, I lean back and allow my body to float, red hues floating away from my body and downstream.

Daylight is almost up, if the fading blue sky has anything to say about it. I can barely see the sun shining through the tree canopies, dying the heavens a bright pink. So… similar to my home. The sky is still blue, the leaves green, and the water blue. People lived here and they died here.

It really isn't too different, I guess.

_What would my sister do in this situation? _I debate, scrunching my eyes shut and imagining my sister, falling into my place and possibly being stuck in a world of badass ninja after dying. A few seconds of silence and peace pass before I'm forced to stand as I start laughing so hard I tear up. Ducking down so the water covered my mouth and my joyful eyes still sparkled towards the sun, I continue to paint the picture.

Lauren's delicate face, bright red with anger and frustration, set deep into a scowl as she attempted to curl her dark blonde hair with fallen branches or something else round. The idea of her attempting to take a bath in a river? Even better! My sister definitely isn't the best model for this moment.

Let's not even get started with my mom! Caragh Blanchette, formerly Caragh Lavery. A sweet woman with a mischievous side, she would easily adapt and convince others to help her. Maybe find a little town to live her days peacefully, adopt dozens of little screaming and drooling babies who need a family.

My face twists into a dejected smile as sweet-and-sour memories pile up. _Mom wanted to adopt a baby boy, _I recall, blowing bubbles from my submerged mouth. _She said she'd wait until I was in college_. Mom knew I hated babies; I never knew what to do with them.

And then, Dad. Henrí Blanchette, the "hardass" air force colonel who spent most of his time in other countries, working and managing with foreigners. He would have woken up in this mess naked and danced for the first couple minutes, singing about freedom before building a camp and hunting, new youth in his eyes. Always the survivalist, he would have lived in the woods and said, "Just going back to our roots."

God I miss them.

My salty tears mix with the freshwater as I dive down, escaping air for a moment. Through closed eyes, I could sense little blips on my radar floating around me in the water, letting the current decide their fate. If only things were that simple.

Lungs burning with lack of oxygen I resurface by the shore, golden hair clinging to my naked back. Spitting out excess water and blinking it out of my eyes, I head over towards the tree where my new garments hang drying after a good wash. I couldn't get all the blood off the back of the robe, but at least now it looks like I slipped and fell into a mud pile instead of a pool of someone's life liquid.

Shivering in the afternoon's chill, I grab the clothes and slip my arms in, wrapping the cotton as tightly around my body as I could before knotting the sash around my waist. I frown at the feeling of rough cloth against my bare chest and butt, however there is nothing that can be done about it.

Snuggling deeply into my shirt-turned-dress, I sit down cross-legged and pick up the two pouches I pilfered. Sticking my hand in, I cry out in pain. Holding my now bleeding digits to the side so it won't get onto my clothes I scowl deeply.

"Damn ninjas and their damn pointy tools," I spit, switching tactics. Pouring out the holsters' contents and throwing the containers aside, I peer at my winnings.

Several throwing stars and knives are scattered in front of me: common weapons for the average ninja, as Minato explained to me one time. Being aware of the sharp blades, I move them all to one side, exposing several other artifacts of interest. First off, there are several coins and bills, thank the lord. Sifting through what I could only guess was "ryo," I can't help but feel grateful that I have some money to give me leeway in the future. Other than that, there are a couple of wrapped bars that I presume are food and a few rolls of bandages. Tiny little clay jars also litter the ground, and when I pick the up and open them, a bitter smell permeates the air.

"Salve," I conclude, popping the cap back down with a nod. Smirking, I repack my goodies with the pointy objects in one pack and the money, medicine, and bandages in the other. Well, except one bar and one roll of bandages.

Scarfing down the food with gusto and stuffing the wrapping inside a pouch, I slip my arms out from the robe. Grunting, I begin to wrap the bandages tightly around my chest as many ninja characters in my world had down. Easier said than done.

Painfully reaching my arms backward again and again and through many dropping of bandages, I finally tuck the end of the wrap in, sighing with contentment. At least I'm not hanging free anymore.

"I need to move," I reckon, knotting my loose and wet hair up on itself. "I need to find a place to buy food and stay or something…"

_And I'll move from there._

With a nod to myself, I strap on the two pouches to either thigh, fill up the canteen, and then strap that on as well. Gazing up at the sky for a moment, I stretch and begin to walk, following the river upstream.

Walking is boring, I conclude as my legs cramp and my feet burn. My figure is lit by the moonlight only, making the world hard to work out into my sight. I'd been walking for hours on end and I'm getting tired, my eyes drooping. Sleepiness, another feeling I'd gotten used to not having.

With a yawn and weary eyes, I hardly notice the thinning out of trees and the silhouette on the moonlit horizon. Licking my dry lips, I stumble across an empty plain. I gasp and trip, falling face first into soft, soft grass. Pillow-like, even.

My eyes drift closed and light snores tumble from my mouth in a matter of seconds.

**So originally I planned on making this chapter longer but it was rough to write with no characters to play off of and only Sheigh's fear and emotions which are all over the place because, I mean, come on… what the heck is happening to her? xD hahahaha**

**I've found out what I want to happen to her in the close future aka who finds her and who takes her in at first (if anyone) and the like, but still I'm generally undecided! So basically, I want to ask you guys some things you want to see and I might include it (but don't be offended if I don't!) Especially if it includes Minato, cuz I'm trying to think of a decent way to keep him active in the story but my original plan was…. Stupid to say the least :(**

**Also! A huge part of this is pairings; if you want to review, give two or three people you wouldn't mind seeing her paired with (or say no pairings at all) and I'll keep it in mind. Age doesn't matter! Whether they're from the rookie nine age group or Kakashi's or a little older, I have decent ways of explaining such things soooo yeah!**

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and review if you so desire! You would make me the happiest person in the world!**

**Koby out!**


	3. Cause I Know I Don't Belong Here

**Heyoo my wonderful readers! :D Hope you're enjoying your times and days because while you are having fun, because I am slaving away on this and the next ****_Contracted_**** chapter. -.- yay for you guys… lol Hope ya'll enjoy this piece because, while I haven't written it yet… I know it's gonna be a bitch. So many things I've never tried writing before and so many different ways it can go wrong *sigh***

**Chapter Title: 'Cause I Know I Don't Belong Here in Heaven**

**Guess what song that is from and you get a special mention and maybe a little gift! :)**

***Don't Own***

_I cuss them out and yell at Lauren for not helping, but they all laugh at me. Eventually I float over to the rope handle and grab on, gulping in fear. I stare at it, then the boat, seeing Lauren wave as spotter. Nibbling at my lip, the boat speeds up, slowly at first, then quick acceleration while I force the water skis to point straight up, panicking when the feel of the boat's speed pulls through the rope by association._

_It isn't long before I'm standing up on shaky legs, flying over smooth water as Dad drives me around the empty bay. I take my time to bask in the lake spray and the sun. Bending my elbows lightly to readjust my grip, I decide that maybe, just maybe, waterskiing isn't too horrible and that maybe I should spend more quality time at the lake house._

_That is, until a wave passes from under the boat and heads towards me. With wide eyes, I scream, "Stop the boat!" Smooth sailing is now out of the picture, and that waves mean turbulence and turbulence means me falling into the water and _slamming_ hard with water up my nose and mouth._

_The wave smashes into her, my knees buckling slightly before bending for proper shock absorbance. I can faintly hear my dad yell out, "See? She's a natural!" _

_I want to scream back at him, yell and say that he was a crazy maniac for shoving me in the water_, b_ut as I witness another wave heading my way, I instead repeat, "Stop the boat! You're going to kill me!" All heads on the boat turn my way just as I shriek and glide off the thing, wobbling on unsteady skis. My grip on the wet handle tightens to a death grip and my eyes pinprick with tears._

_Through the spray, wind, and tears I can see my dad's head throw back in a laugh and I don't need to look at Lauren's face to know that she's rolling her eyes. My older sister always loved the water, even enough to go to Colorado and barefoot ski, but me? No, water isn't my thing._

_"__If you want to stop, just let go of the rope, honey!"_

_That was Mom, sweet yet chiding voice carrying on the turbulent winds to my ears. She had walked from the ship's bow to the back, allowing Lauren to move up front instead._

_Images flash into my mind; images of me letting go of the rope and skipping across the water like a stone as the water slaps me harshly in the face and the skis fly about, hitting me brusquely. I gulp nervously, dry throat painfully convulsing._

_"__Stop the boat!" I scream again hoarsely, pitifully. Tears are streaming down my face and I hiccup. I don't want to go in the water again, and I can't swim with these stupid skis on!_

_"__Let go of the rope!" Mom again. This time with less patience. She seemed almost angry._

_Finally my eyes catch on to the perpetrator. A sleek speed boat zooms by, next to me and my dad's pontoon. With a whoop, Dad jerks perpendicular to its path. We'd hit the waves straight on._

_He must have his shit-eating grin on, right about now._

_"__Stop the boat!" I screech, staring wide-eyed at the huge waves that were slowly approaching. I could only reconcile my fear slightly with the fact that our boat would minimize the waves' size. That is, until Dad turned ever so slightly to fling me and my skis outside of his wake._

_I hear his words call back to me again, "Relax, baby girl! It's fun!" He cackles and revs the speed up._

_"__Stop the boat!" I cry again, gripping so tightly on the handle that my hands hurt. The waves are so close, almost here…_

_"__LET GO!"_

_The next thing I know, water flies into my face and up my nostrils, punching me icily in the face._

I wake up, horribly drenched. The cool streams of water that matt down my hair flow down into my eyes, across my nose, and trickled down my back. I shiver as goose bumps raise on my skin.

_Great, the whiplash of the boat knocked me out cold_, I groaned in my mind, still groggy from sleep.

Sputtering for a moment and spitting out excess liquid, I wipe the water from my eyes until my blurry vision solidifies into actual shapes and colors. Then the brightness hits me. Swirls of rainbows, dull and bright, sway front of me, pulsing and circulating as it comes closer and closer. My skin burns against the onslaught for a moment.

"Gah!" I yelp, closing my eyes instantly. The past few years fly back at me: the Shinigami, Minato, training and learning, being sent back to the living. Not being able to tell a difference from dream and reality. It really has been a long time since I've dreamed. Lauren, Dad, Mom… I miss my family so much, even their stupid antics that I've always hated.

The mixture of color dies down to black with lines of bright blue and silver, the latter in lithe forms pervading my sight. _Silver, well that's a new one_, I think, my mouth quirking up to a wry smile.

Taking a quick peek, I see a black cat with intelligent green eyes sitting on my sheet-covered legs. I blink in confusion when I notice that the animal is wearing a similarly green kimono, lined with gold and fishnet. I blink again when I register the pale gold sheet, covering me up. Last I remember, I was falling into a happy slumber in the grass. My muscles tense in suspicion and panic.

This is definitely not grass.

"Ah, mā ima koneko wa mewosamasu." My head whips to the side at the jumble of sounds, coming eye-to-eye with squinty, narrowed eyes, almost like a cat. In fact, the person who talked is very cat-like, her nose blackened like that of a cat's and her large ponytail, grey and fanning out behind her like a mane, is held by a hybrid elastic-headband with black cat ears.

Taken aback for a moment, my mouth flounders and the old woman's wizened lips curl up in a smirk. I feel a shifting on my bed as the black cat stands, stretches, and pads over to her. Reaching a tiny paw up, the feline swats at the elder's beige scarf, a rumbling purr emanating from its chest. As casually as I could, I attempt to reach down and grasp a knife from one of my pouches, but all I brush against is bare leg. My breathing picks up in dread and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

The world blazes in colors for a moment, overwhelming me, and nothing I do can calm me down. With one eye painfully shut, I watch the newcomer like a hawk and try to beat away the incoming headache due to the onslaught.

The grey-haired female casually lifts the cat under its front legs, pets it for a moment, and then lays it down on the ground with several others. My eyes flash. Silver. I rub at my eyes. The colors are all gone.

Blinking rapidly, I realize I missed what the woman had said. I ask, "I'm sorry, ma'am, what did you say?" With a cautiously polite smile, I turn my torso to better face the wrinkled woman, who is now brushing black fur off her orange kimono. My knuckles turn white with how tight I'm clenching them under the sheets.

A sharp glance at me, her closed eyes open minimally so I witness dark brown orbs flashing in their sockets. She opens her mouth as if she's about to say something, but someone beats her to it.

"Obaa-chan!Kanojo ni mizu o danpu shinaide kudasai! Sore wa shitsureida!" My eyebrows furrow. That definitely isn't English. Woefully sighing, I focus on the newcomer. This time, the speaker is a young girl clad in an orange dress and fishnet stockings. Her collar climbs high on her neck, right where her dark brown hair stops underneath her chin. Wide brown eyes turn to face me for a moment before turning to the older lady with a rebuking expression.

The old woman scoffs, waving the girl off and saying, "Kuchidome-ko ā, wareware wa kono yōna hōmuresu no koneko no tame no hinanshode wanai! Kanojo wa furīrōdā!" Whatever she said seems to irritate the girl.

I blink, looking back and forth between the two people speaking gibberish. I cannot understand a word they are saying, yet for some reason, the consonants and vowels and syllables sound familiar. The inflections of a's and the way the sounds flowed and cut short without drawing them out. I cock my head to the side.

I suddenly remember the scrolls and mentally smack myself on the forehead. _Of course, foreign place. I'm in Minato's home world_.

My eyes narrow in thought. _But how come I could understand Minato? Did they know English?_

Clenching and unclenching my hands in worry, I glance between the two as they bicker in unknown consonants and syllables. I don't even know if I should attempt to talk to them or not, whether they are friend or foe. The younger girl's face reddens as her voice picks up into a high squeak before tearing a glance at my blanched face. Her face turns redder when she continues to seemingly scold the old woman, shit-eating grin plastered on her wrinkled face.

_Fuck it, _I think, annoyed. _This is too much worrying for a girl who already died once._

Taking a deep intake of air, I speak up brazenly, "Umm, do you speak English?" Their chattering stops and the two look at me with confused eyes. Or, more accurately, stoic boredom from the senior and compassionate concern from the girl.

I'll just take that as a no. And now they're looking at me like I'm crazy.

The younger of the two ladies perks up quickly though, mortaring on a sweet smile, albeit a little worried. My eye twitches at the look and a growl builds in my throat. I'm fine, damnit. She speaks with concerned tones, "Anata o mezamete mōshiwakearimasen, Obaa-chan wa, watashitachi dakedearu koto ni shiyō sa rete iru... Shikashi, anata wa dono yō ni kanjite imasu ka?"

I bite my lip. I couldn't quite understand her, but… for some reason the words sounded so familiar. I reach my hand up to run my fingers through my tangled and damp hair, pulling at all the snarls. I hold back the wave of anxiousness and avert my eyes.

They narrow and glare as I spy the bucket on the ground that a pale tan cat clad in a red kimono and white sash is circling in. My ears pick up a light splashing as the animal pads around with a happy look on its face. Lifting its head, the cat looked at me, its tail straight up and twitching. It paws at the dark three whisker marks on either side of its face with a wet paw.

Staring at me, its mouth widens.

Upon seeing my silence, the girl hastily added, "Ah! Gomen'nasai, hijō ni shitsurei." She blushes daintily and pushes a few strands of her short brown hair behind her ear. Taking a step closer to my bedside, she continues, "Watashi wa Tamaki da, to asoko ni watashi no Obaa-chan wa Nekobaa desu! Watashitachiha, anata ga Sōraku, ima shite iru o mise o jikkō shite kudasai!"

I scowl at her liveliness, glancing between her and what I presume to be her Grandma. At least the elder woman seems wary of me like a normal person should be. I mean, I'm an unknown threat who is now in their home. From what I remember about Minato's stories, taking someone you don't know into your care is an acute threat to one's wellbeing. If I were them, I'd be afraid that I was sent to kill them or something.

Unless… my eyes dart to the young girl glad in orange. Looking her up and down, I note her scrawny arms and bony knees. Her eyes are soft and kind, innocent. She looked like she was maybe thirteen and weighed about one hundred pounds.

She doesn't look like a ninja and she hadn't a headband but…

Minato's pearly smile and happy blue eyes meet my vision.

You never know.

I don't answer or even try to understand what she says, instead taking the opportunity to look around my surroundings. I am in a circular room, floor covered with a plush rug dyed the colors of the sunrise. Behind the two females is drooping sheets, parted and held by a hook as if the cloth is a door. That particular article is white and scuffed.

I am on a bed, now wet due to the water I can only guess came from the bucket. It is quite comfy, now that I pay attention, and it was so nice to no longer feel suffocated by those wrappings.

I pause, ignoring more words that flow from the old woman's mouth as she leaves the girl in the room with me. Somehow, once I again, I am naked. Gloriously and unceremoniously bereft of any clothing.

Blushing furiously, I pull the bed's pale gold covers up to my still smaller than usual chest and glare accusingly at the room's other occupant. If I spoke their language, oh the amount of swears and cuss words she would hear would have scarred her. Instead, she remains innocently oblivious to my thoughts and stares right back with a delicate frown on her face.

Gesturing to her side, where a dresser stands, the girl opens her mouth to those foreign words again: "Mōshiwakearimasenga, anata no kizu o kirei ni shi, anata no hone o settei suru hitsuyō ga arimashita. Anata ga warui katachi ni atta. Ninneko wa anata ga chi o sumeruto to nobeta." She stands there for a moment, expecting me to follow her pointing with my gaze, but it doesn't waver from her face. I will not let her out of my sight.

I don't trust them. There is no room to trust them.

As we sit here, silent standoff growing larger, I break the tension. Nodding as if I understand, she lets out a nervous smile. She cheerily twitters, "Ē to, watashi wa anata ga yoi kanji o negatte imasu. Anata ga nanika o hitsuyō to surunara, watashi ni renraku shite kudasai." Without another second, she spins on her heel and skips off, unhooking the cloth behind her.

I eye the closed curtains. No shadows or movement outside of the cats circling and meowing.

Then I look over to the bureau the girl pointed at. Laying there were my clothes, pouches and canteen. Next to them is that stupid mask, too.

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Good, they didn't steal my stuff, assuming that everything is still in them, that is. Smirking, I lick my dry lips.

I need to leave, as soon as possible. Where to, I had no idea. But preferably to somewhere open and with many people where I didn't have to worry about being killed off with no one there to hear my screams. Then I could decide what to do there. Maybe find a way to get back home to my parents.

I'd have to find a way to convince them it is actually me and not some faker posing as their dead daughter, but I would deal with that when the time came.

Shifting, I move to stand.

"Koko de, hon o taberu," a scratchy voice comes. Jolting in the bed and colors sparking in the corners of my vision, I turn back towards the sheets to see the cat lady standing there, a group of three more cats twirling around her ankles and meowing. I calm my erratic breathing and loosen my coiled muscles. My eyes catch something in her hands and my nose picks up something heavenly.

In her hands is a bowl of what appears to be steaming beef. I look her in the eye. She stares straight back without a flinch. "Taberu."

She nudges the bowl towards me. I bite my lip and take it; it smells so good. My stomach growls in anticipation as my will weakens. Food, I croon in my head, suddenly remembering the minimal bills and coins in my possession. I know I should be more cautious, but I'll have to take risks sometime to survive here, and I'd rather the risk be trusting someone giving me free food than attempting to steal food later on when my resources die out.

I take another look at the woman. Now she's holding out a pair of chopsticks. With a light smile, I roll my eyes. _Minato, you are _so _Asain._

In a better mood, I bow my head and accept the meal with a grin, fumbling with the two wooden sticks in my hand. I stick my tongue out playfully when the lady snorts in amusement at my clumsiness, and instead grapple with the utensils to stick the food in my mouth.

And immediately spit it up.

"This is cat food!" I holler, scowling down at my bowl. I squint accusatorily at the woman, who is now guffawing at my face, her black nose scrunched up in mirth. The more she laughs, the more my face convulses in annoyance.

"Obaa-chan! On'nanoko no neko no esa o kyōkyū shinaide kudasai!" The young girl is back, admonishing the cackling woman with a wooden spoon in her hand. Puffing out her cheeks at the woman's antics, she snatched the bowl from my hands and replaced it with another one, this time filled with steaming soup.

I watch the girl closely. Her movements are fast; not as fast as Minato, but fast. My own hand twitches in response. I holster my own amusement at the granny's prank and replace is again with suspicion.

"Kanojo wa, Tamaki furīrōdādesu! Wareware wa in janai, kanojo wa beddo o motte rakkīdesu!" the old woman says with a scowl, but there is a new warmth to her eyes. She glances at my frowning face once and chokes again on laughter.

I may not understand completely the words they spoke, but I understand the tone. It reminds me of Lauren's tone when I did something stupid or embarrassing, and my hearts warms at the nostalgia.

I chuckle, waving the girl's reprimand off. "I'm fine," I joke, even though I know they don't understand. Putting the bowl of soup down on the nightstand next to me, I smile brightly, mischief dancing all over my face. "In fact, I'm so hungry that shit tastes delish!"

I reach out for my first bowl, the one full of cat food. The girl hesitates, regarding at the woman besides her bawling with mirthful tears, choking out wizened laughter. I wave the bowl over again, however this time, I get what I want and receive the mush from her hands. Winking at the granny with a playful smile, I chomp a full mouth of cat food.

My eyes water at the taste, but I ignore it as the grandma laughs heartily. I smile gleefully in return when the young girl shakes her head with a sigh, sending a small smile my way before leaving.

The woman flashes me a grin. "Watashi wa, koreha mae ni mo ittaga, shitte iru..." she says, looking me in the eye. She then points to her chest, puffing it out like a mighty bird while squinting her eyes and curling up her lips like a cat. "Nekobaa."

Looking at her, my smile wilts. I scrunch up my face for a moment, then point to myself hesitantly. "Sheigh…" I pause, then, "Blanchette Sheigh."

Nekobaa purses her lips for a moment, but nods nonetheless. With slow words, she continues, "Anata wa shinobi, Sheigh?"

I stop the soup spoon at my lips without taking a sip. Shinobi. _Shinobi_. Why does that sound so familiar?

Something about it bugs me. When the girl and Nekobaa speak, it seems… familiar. Not just the familiar as in I heard the words before or the language, but familiar as in I _knew_ what they were saying. Like how I feel whenever someone says a Spanish word to which I had intermittently forgotten the meaning.

She takes my quietness as confusion and shakes her head. This time, she points at me, then her leg, and says, "Crack!" I blink then look at my legs. Slowly rolling the sheets up—my cheeks heat up when I remember that I am still naked—my eyes widen when I look down. My right thigh is heavily bandaged and numb.

I glance back up, panic-stricken. Did they do this so I couldn't escape? Fuck, I _knew _I shouldn't trust these people! That young girl is probably a ninja, just like this woman, too, and they are going to-!

Nekobaa suddenly flares up bright and blinding blue and my ears thump and thump with blood rushing through me. Until a sound break through the beat.

Laughing again, the lady shakes her head, as if knowing my thoughts. Again, a finger her leg, then layers one hand crookedly atop the other—"Crack!"—points to me—"Ai ai ai!"—points to herself, then pulls the hands apart until they were level, and back to the leg. "Wareware wa sore o shūsei shimashita. Idō ikenai," she croaks out again brazenly, shaking her head in the negative, then walking in place.

In any other situation, I'd probably be laughing at the hilarity of her movements, but it just so happens that these stupid dances are how… Nekobaa is trying to communicate. With a frown I think through her movements, decoding the charades in an attempt to understand. Whispering, I ask, "How long?"

I try to sit up but she pushes me down, a hard look on her face. I don't think she understands me, because she shakes her head again and leaves.

I watch her departure for a moment, then turn back to the soup. My leg felt fine before I passed out, I am sure of it. At least, I think I was sure of it. Yesterday is almost a blur of pain and blood and tiredness.

I sniff the soup. Poison is always a viable worry, but they would have had an easier job by just killing me in my sleep. That and I have already taken a bite of cat food. I hit myself mentally for the stunt.

Maybe they didn't poison that though, and only the soup? After all, their dear pets could accidently eat it after I die and travel to the afterlife with me, and I'm sure they don't want that. Besides, who would leave someone you thought of as a prisoner or even a threat alone, even if their leg is broken? I've seen way too many movies to underestimate an injured enemy, and these people will actually die because of that mistake instead of just gasping at the comeback from the safety of their couch.

So, did they even think of me as a threat? Why had they taken me here and "treated" me? Should I consider them as a threat?

Who am I kidding, in my condition, everything and everyone is a threat. The lifeless and cold eyes of the men in the temple flash back into my thoughts. My blood freezes in my veins and my stomach drops like lead. There are too many unknowns and no way of getting answers.

My head hurts from thinking; this life of paranoia isn't my life. Or at least, it wasn't supposed to be.

With a growl, I begin eating again with ferocious hunger. Fuck it, the only thing worse than dying again would be dying again hungry. If the soup is poisoned, at least I'd be full.

I gulp the food down ravenously, sloppily wiping my mouth with the back of my arm when I finish. Stealing a glance at the entrance to my room and seeing no movement, I throw the covers off me. I flinch, noticing a varying degree of purples, reds, and yellows scattered across my chest and arms. I note they go down my legs, too.

Taking a painful bite on my lips, I mutter weakly, "Damn, how could I _not_ notice these?" I lean down and wince as I grip the bandages on my leg, unwrapping them without too much jostling. The bruise there is a lot bigger and nastier, but still seems to be pretty old, a couple days at the very least.

Surveying my skin, I can see a scar, pink flesh peeking from in between a jagged line. The skin hasn't start to curl up into white tissue yet, so the mark must be new. It cut straight down my right thigh, thin at the top before spreading to a rosy bulge. I tap my finger against it lightly, only to feel the faintest brush of a sensation. I frown.

Despite knowing it to be a bad idea and the agony and damage it could do, I still bend my knee to test it out. Blinking when there is no resistance or pain, I grin from ear to ear.

"Sweet." Good as new.

Sliding off the bed as stealthily as possible, I place a finger to my lips as the cats inhabiting the room stare at me. The one in the bucket jumps out and shakes off, figure eighting sleekly around my legs. Stumbling awkwardly around the animal, I forge my way to the dresser. It must be taller than I thought, because my chest barely reached the top of it.

Ignoring the wriggling in my mind bugging me about this fact, I slip the tan shirt back around my shoulders. After securing the sash, I check the pouches. Everything is still there.

At least some things could go right in my life. Dandy.

I secure those, too, and tie the mask around my neck so that the clay surface scratches against my back.

I jump when another feline appears in front of me, next to my canteen. Bushy and light brown, it sits with one paw on the container. Scowling, I mutter, "Move, kitty, I gotta go." Brushing my hand lightly against the cat's blue kimono, I snatch the canteen away.

"You know, you shouldn't leave, nya" a patient voice warbles from behind me. I freeze. So people here _do _know how to speak English, or at least whoever this newcomer is did.

I ask pleasantly enough, on edge, "Who said I was leaving?" Turning around with tense muscles, I see nobody. Only cats.

Another voice picks up from behind me again saying, "We can smell it. Your suspicion and fear that is." This voice is rougher than the first, probably male. But… no one else is in here…

"I'm not afraid," I snarl, closing my eyes. _Blue,_ I think, concentrating for half a minute before the effects follow. The color bleeds into my senses when I open my eyes: two blots of blue burning a whiles off, maybe a couple rooms or down a hall. Other than that, nothing other than myself, and certainly no sign of the glowing light in this room. I can't hold the color long before my head hurts, but I force it to stay, flinging my hair back and forth as I whip my head around to search.

Nothing.

But then, who is talking to me?

"Wow, you really aren't from around here, are you?" the gentler voice speaks. "I mean, you have a weird name like Blanchette and you speak foreign, nya. That and you think you can fool a ninneko's nose. Right Denka?"

"Of course, Hina. This Sheigh girl is quite different than our humans," the second voice speculates.

I sneer angrily, colors flashing into my sight briefly before disappearing. There was the usual purple dots invading my vision, but that damn silver color surrounds me, blinding my eyes. Jerking my hands to cover my face, I snarl, "What the _fuck _is that supposed to mean? And Blanchette is not a weird name!" I didn't mean it to come out like a whine, I really didn't, but somehow it does.

The light cat wearing the red kimono hops up onto the bed and purrs, walking towards me. I look at it warily. If cats could snicker…

_"And we have these partners, called summons! If you sign a contract with their boss and are accepted, they help you in battle and other stuff," _Minato's voice drifts from somewhere in my mind like a whisper. I harshly try to shake it out. _"I had a summoning contract for Toads, and we always went out to drink with my teacher, Jaraiya, who holds the toad summoning contract. They really are amazing; they can use chakra like the Inuzuka's ninken can but to a higher degree and they can even talk! Honestly, I think they are smarter than we are…"_

"Summons?" It's supposed to be a statement, but it is born more like a question. I curse the uncertainty in my voice.

The cat in front of me smiles widely as the feline from the dresser hurdles over my shoulder and onto the bed as well, causing me to stumble backwards and off balance in surprise. "Hina," the tan one says in a soothing voice, lifting its tan paw outwards. I blink for a second before reaching out my hand, shaking her paw.

The other one, grinning as well, intones, "Denka." He then bows his head is greeting.

Groaning, I hold my head in my hands. "Of course, summons. Because talking cats are normal," I murmur. Raking my fingers through knotted hair, my other hand finds rest in one of the pouches on my thigh, causing me to bend over slightly. I try to mask the posture by leaning against the dresser. "How do you know English, though?" I ask curiously while stroking one of the sharp weapons in my possession. My eyes flash to the cats briefly then back to the cloth door. I could maybe use the knife as a distraction, knock the beasts off their game long enough for me to run as long as the two people don't notice me.

The blue blobs representing who I could only assume are Nekobaa and her granddaughter are now separated, but still further from where I am. The splitting headache forming forces me to close my eyes and block the colors out, but I still sigh inwardly in relief.

Hina is the one who answers: "English? Is that what your language is called?" I nod cautiously, wincing when I accidently cut a thumb on the knife. I wince again when the cat's sharp eyes land on the pouch said thumb is hiding in. She doesn't comment on it though, instead continuing, "Well, either way, language is no barrier to any summon. Words are said and simply understood, nya."

I slowly lick my lips with my suddenly dry tongue.

"Ok," I play into their conversation, "then why shouldn't I leave? I have no reason to trust you or them and they have no reason to trust me." My eyes shift down as Denka's claws unsheathe, pinpricking the sheet ever so slightly. He takes care to lick his lips in an agonizing manner, subtly showing off sharp teeth. Sharp, pointy teeth that definitely would hurt.

"Oh, no reason to trust them other than the fact that they set your leg and fed you," Denka hissed, his smiling mouth now set to a snarl.

Against the little voice in my head, I growl right back, "There was nothing wrong with my leg when I got here." My muscles tense. I don't know how, but a brittle tension unfurls around the three of us. How a tension could build among a girl and two cats, I'll never know. And honestly, I think that I'm taking this whole talking cat thing extremely well for someone who didn't believe in ninjas.

And the fact that I just thought to words "talking cat" and "ninja" without feeling in the least bit crazy surely had to mean I am, in at least the most miniscule of amounts, in fact insane.

Hina languidly stretches and looks at me, opening her eyes enough for me to see amber before they shut again. "You were walking on a leg that healed with the bone overlapped, probably without pain due to adrenaline or drugs or something, nya." She says it as if it were a given. Like drugs and living through a broken femur thanks to adrenaline is a regular thing. Then again, it probably is.

I stiffen. Well, I definitely had a lot of stuff on my mind last time I was awake. Grunting, I push myself off the piece of furniture, striding to the cloth that separated my room from the rest of the building. Peering out of it, I make sure to send one last cautious glower at the two grinning cats. I smile back with what I hope is a reassuring smile and say, "Maybe you're right."

I stand there for a moment, heart pounding. The brown one, Denka, sits down and begins to clean himself loudly. Then Hina opens her maw in a yawn.

I bolt.

"At least learn how to speak the language, girl!"

I barely register these words as I sprint away, feet pounding against the floor.

I clench my teeth. Shinobi. That word specifically rang true in my mind.

Shaking it off—I don't have the energy to waste on such matters right now—I race through the halls and ignore my already screaming muscles, searching for any place where I could escape. All I see are pale red walls, crumbling slightly and marred with scuffs. Rusty pipes contour the ceilings as well, occasionally letting out a soft hissing or a loud clank, but at least there is plenty of ambient light from the plentiful windows barred down and lining the walls. Earlier, I had tried sneaking through them, but was stopped in my tracks by the bars. Luckily the wind could still pass through though, because otherwise the hallway would be impressively hot, and I am sweating like crazy as is. The floors are layered with dirt and dust, paw prints and footprints imbued in certain places.

That and the cats all walking about me. Some are, dare I say this word about a cat, naked, while others are dressed similarly to the two summons back in my room or wearing other articles of clothing. These are the ones I worry about, the ones that gaze up at me curiously with their squinting eyes and permanently grinning mouths. Every time they pass, I'm on edge, but none of them make a move on me. They all just walk on by and I continue to run.

My mouth is puffing and my lungs are begging for respite, but I know I can't stop until I'm out. Hina and Denka or whatever those hell cats are called could have alerted Nekobaa and her girl by now. They could be hunting me down and I still have no idea where the exit is. I haven't even ran into a turn or fork once.

I feel my ire and anxiety rise as more and more straight halls stretch before me without change. It gets harder and harder to force the air into my lungs, like the air itself is iron. It is heavy and unwieldy and just so full, weighing down greatly in my lungs. Wheezing and choking on it, I push myself as hard as I can.

A painful jolt spiders up my right leg, branching out and into my hip. I falter, tripping on my own feet and face planting. Swallowing deep breaths, I stare down at my injured leg with trepidation, almost waiting for the shiny pink line to split open and pour blood. When it doesn't, I release the air I didn't know I was holding captive. I attempt to get back up, but more pain hits me and I fall back on my ass. I know I should cursing or spitting in anger or fear, but for some reason, I giggle.

Pain. I bite my lip anxiously. _No matter how sick it is_, I think with slight remorse, _this is proof of my life. _No matter who I took this life from, I _am _alive. I press the heel of my hand to my eyes in an attempt to stop incoming tears. I tremble to stand back up once again, pain trailing my every movement, but I still smile. Tears still stream down my face happily, and I can't help but hate myself for it.

"Shit," I choke out, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth. "This is so fucked up." I laugh, a mixture of joy and moroseness that just shouldn't exist.

"Now that is no way for a lady to speak, Miss."

"Yeah, thanks for the advice. Like I haven't heard that piece before," I bite, still grinning from ear to ear. Wait…

Spinning clumsily around my wounded leg, I spy another cat sitting right behind my heels. As soon as our eyes meet, the feline stands up smoothly and circles round me for a moment. My cautious eyes follow its every movement, every twitch of the tail.

Halting its pacing in order to face me again, it blinks before speaking up in a rich voice, "Pardon my incivility, Miss, but my name is Haiiro." With a flourish of its tail, the animal leans down as if in a bow.

"Haiiro," I deadpan, clenching and unclenching my cut fingers. I allow my focus to change from my surroundings to my senses, noting how the fuzzy blue balls of chakra still far enough off to be safe.

"It means Grey, Miss," the thing purrs. I flash my gaze back to it, only to get stunned by silver light.

Scrunching my eyes quickly, I mutter back, "Sheigh," I quickly intervene, "Blanchette Sheigh."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sheigh." For some reason, his politeness just sounds so condescending.

"Yeah, well my acquaintance is leaving, so don't get too used to it, furball," I answer gruffly. I rub at my eyes momentarily then continue to walk through the longest hallway I've ever been in. I hear a vicious hiss beside me as a grey blur passes in front of me, tripping me up. "Hey, watch it!" I yelp, doing my best to avoid paws and tails.

"If it would not offend you," the cat purrs with a too wide smile, "I would say you are quite a boorish woman, Miss Sheigh."

Blinking for a moment, my eyes soon narrow in on the animal. "Yet you say it anyway, _furball_," I mock, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I see why his name is grey: the cat's sleek body is covered head to toe in shining grey fur, the only deviation from this being small white tufts between the pads of his paws. Not only that, but his eyes, which are quite big in proportion to his face, are the same exact color as said fur. He would be completely monochromatic if not for the open lavender vest he wore.

That and the violet scroll almost the same size as his body resting at his hip.

His big grey eyes shimmer for a moment before turning steel cool and detachedly polite. A playful smile pulls at his dark lips. "Moving on," he croons, ignoring my comment entirely, "may I inquire as to what you are doing?"

My fingers twitch in annoyance. "No, you may not," I bark, marching away and ignoring the pain in my leg. But the damned pest is persistent, and sticks right by me.

"Where are you going? I presumed that you wished to leave," the smooth voice of Haiiro carries. Searching for the summon, I discover his perplexed face staring me down.

Grunting in affirmation, I say, "Yeah, that's why I'm walking, idiot." I scoff and try to ignore my companion.

Without letting go of his confused face, Haiiro replies, "Well, I understand that, Miss Sheigh, but you're just walking in circles." Raising one paw high up, the cat beckons me towards him. "This leads to the exit."

I glance back at the grey cat and harshly suck in my teeth, eye twitching violently. "You are pointing towards a wall, you damn cat," I seethe. Rolling my eyes, I twirl away and begin to walk off, fuming.

"You are trapped in the genjutsu that protects this location," he speaks, a tremor of annoyance in his tone, before beckoning to me once again. "And if I'm correct, you are not quite sure how to dispel it." If Haiiro hadn't been speaking with such articulate politeness, I would say he is being smug.

"Yeah? And why should I trust the words of a cat over my own sight?" I ask, questioning his claims as I walk. After all, he's more than likely Nekobaa's summon and could just be following her commands.

His purring voice reaches my ears, "I assure you that I am a gentleman cat, and as a gentleman cat, it is my duty to aid the damsel in distress. And you, my damsel, appear to be in distress."

I swear, this cat knows _just_ how to piss me off. I pause and turn around, my face bright red in anger. Opening my mouth to spit out insults and curses, the feline beat me to it.

"You are lost here, no? Can you really afford to refuse help when offered, Miss Sheigh? I honestly just wish to aid you," he says seriously, padding up to my aching form. We stare at each other for a few moments, my eyes guarded while his are piercing. Not only that, but they are also pitying, sad, sympathetic. They make me swallow nervously.

"I am neither a damsel nor am I in distress," I murmur.

In a sudden movement, Haiiro lunges and jumps high. I flinch backwards and run my back into wall, eyes wide in apprehension and hands moving up in defense. However, it was all for naught as Haiiro gracefully lands, sure-footed, on my shoulders. Digging in sharp claws to my shoulders, the cat rumbles a deep and calming purr.

The skin where he sits burns and tingles, my shoulder muscles spasming, and Haiiro calls out in my ear, "Release!"

There's a shift in the air as my head spins transitorily before the world in front of me shimmers. A second later, the musky, rose colored hall that spanned far past my sight is replaced with a small square room with three halls branching off. Yelping, my eyes burn for a moment from disorientation.

I look down at the dusty floors, allowing my sight to refocus when I can see a trail of footprints circling the room multiple times as well as the unsettling of dust signifying where I had fallen down prior. I look down the hall to my right to see one set of tracks walking into the small room, but no tracks to signal a person ever leaving through any of the other paths. The walls are no longer red, but now a rich blue, though the pipes are still present. No windows, the light comes from small electronic torches hanging high on the walls. The air is completely stagnant.

My mouth flounders and I rub at my eyes. Suddenly woozy, I slowly stumble down onto my hands and knees, Haiiro opting to jump off and stand on his own for the time being.

Panting, I turn and face the cat. "Wha-what did you do?" My arms are trembling and my legs are wobbly. My eyes prick slightly with tears.

Eying me with worry, Haiiro answers, "I just disrupted the genjutsu's chakra patterning with a burst of my own chakra. This is where you truly are right now."

I glance at him, feeling even more lost now than ever before. Seriously, just fuck this place and all its craziness. I can't even trust my own senses. I am so useless here.

My body stiffens and chokes out the tears and anxiety. "Which way is out," I croak weakly, fumbling for my canteen. Luckily, it's filled with water and I gulp it down greedily.

I know that Haiiro must see all the water spilt due to my shaking hands, but he respectfully pretends to be blind to it. The liquid spills down my chin and on to my clothes. It's soon followed by liquid dripping down my cheeks as well as I hug my knees to my chest. So easily fooled. How am I going to survive in this world if I'm so easily strung along?

"Fuck," I mumble feebly. "At least the windows and breeze could have been real, I'm dying here," I joke, trying to laugh it off but somehow end up choking down a sob.

Suddenly, Haiiro is by my ankle and digging his teeth into my flesh. "Ow! You mangy cat!"

Turning angry eyes on the grey summon, I find it looking at me steadily. Out of the blue, a satisfied smirk graces his features. "I said that the exit is over there," he rumbles assuredly with a flick of his tail.

I open my mouth for a second before closing it silently. Smiling a small smile, I wipe roughly at my eyes.

"Ok, show me the way, cat!"

**So this chapter came out within the same month because Gunslinger, who got the correct song and artist from last chapter (Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Greenday) asked for an update xD hahahahaha But either way, I actually wanted to make this chapter longer, but I need to start writing for my other fic a bit more and I'm still planning out how these next couple of chapters for this story will go.**

**Hope ya'll liked it, and sorry if Sheigh seems a little everywhere... I'm still trying to solidify her character and all... I feel iffy with this chapter tbh, but I always do with exposition of a story so yeahhhhh xp**

**Anways, enjoy the chapter :) I'll try to get the next one out before I go back to school TT^TT**

**Read and review if you so wish (aka pretty please with a cherry on top? hahaha) and enjoy your dayyy~**

**Koby Out!**


	4. Faces Look Ugly When You're Alone

**First, to start off... I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE! I've been struggling with solidifying Sheigh and Haiiro's personalities for the past month or so and it's really getting to me... I never thought OCs would be so hard to keep in check :/ I actually changed reactions and thoughts a million times this chapter (which by the way I'm sorry its short, if I continued it would have never gotten done until it was like... 12k words and honestly that would be a long while) and at times I still feel like everything is jerky and disconnected. I've also been looking for betas, and a couple agreed (but I haven't gotten any answers on my chapters yet... so I just released this until the progresses), but if anyone is interested specifically in hashing out Sheigh's personality, PM or review to ask about it! :D**

**Also, school has been non-stop tests for me, though I'm sure none of you guys are interested in that... HOWEVER, I'm sorry for my mini rant and thank you guys for staying with this story and sorry for this kinda being a boring chapter, as so much more was supposed to happen during it, but without further ado... NEXT CHAPTER!**

**You know the drill: **

**Chapter 3: Faces Look Ugly When You're Alone**

_I am going to strangle the cat's little furry throat, I swear to God_, I snarl in my head, glaring daggers into the back of Haiiro's skull. My focus is taken completely up by pure and unadulterated irritation. "Fucking traitor," I scorn, taking a step back. Standing in front of me, petting the damned thing is the young girl from before. "I thought you said you _helped_ damsels in distress."

My hackles are raised in suspicion and anticipation of attack. Well, to be honest, they're more likely raised out of complete frustration at the damned animal, but hey, specifics.

Purring smugly, Haiiro replies, "Which you made it clear you were not, Miss Sheigh." I prickle irately like a porcupine, practically snarling at the thing. I swear the furball is smirking at me in contentment, its stupid grey eyes and stupid grey fur and just… stupid cat!

Judging by the slight spike of said cat's fur, I might have said those last couple of things out loud. I grin wolfishly in his direction, straight menace in my look.

"Rirakkusu," the child whispers with a gentle grin. "Haiiro wa watashi ga tasukeru coulad reru yō ni, koko de anata o motarashita! Anata wa shikashi subarashī shinobudenakereba narimasen. Ima demo watashi wa anata kara no chakura o kanchi suru koto wa dekimasen," she continues on conspiratorially, glancing around as if looking for a spy. Then her eyes flicker warmly up to me, cherubic smile on her face.

I glance at her, my angry gaze only lessening slightly when they meet her kind one. Tasuke. That means… Help? Did she just say help? How can a fricking child help me?

"What the…?" I choke out tensely, clenching my jaw and hands. I shake off the odd feeling of understanding to glance around for exits. I should have just left instead of following the cat, but now I'm stuck here and the young girl's room is woefully similar to the one I woke up in: round, decently sized, and only one exit behind a shawl of curtains. At least this room had more personality, albeit not one I would expect from a ten year old. I mean, what young girl has books stacking the walls with ink paintings and calligraphy sets? Shouldn't she had dolls or something?

"Just let me go," I placate tersely, straightening back into what I hope is a confident and nonthreatening posture. Hopefully my smile isn't as much of a grimace as it feels like. Maybe if I seem nice the girl will just let me go without a fuss.

A wave a dizziness hits me before I stumble onto my bad leg and flinch; obviously it isn't as healed and dandy as I originally thought. Especially if that piercing agony has anything to say about it. The pain plus a sudden vertigo puts lead in my gut that swirls uncomfortably.

The brunette girl's stare turns downward, towards my leg, and a tender frown nestles on her face. A nervous finger of hers is tapping silently on her leg before she sighs modestly. Brushing strands of soft brown hair behind her ears, the girl takes a step forward. My cautious body forces one step back in retaliation and my hand brushes into my pouch resting on my thigh. However, with the movement, my vision blurs worse and I feel the bile fight to come up.

Grimacing, I power it back down. _That was _not _pleasant. _

Still, there was no way I am going to let some stranger—no matter the age—close to me. Not when I don't know her motives or even what she says.

No matter how young she is, kids can be dangerous and Minato said training started young. Like way young. For all I know, this ten or twelve or whatever-year-old could be about to send me back to the depths of death again! The pad of my thumb caresses the sharp metal slowly, and I embrace the warm prickle of blood I feel.

I barely restrain the growl of warning when she takes another step closer, tentative smile wobbling on her mouth.

It doesn't help that I'm a little sore at the fact that said twelve year old might actually be taller than me for some reason. I mean, I know that I'm not the tallest of people, but I would like to say I am happily average, in the vertical area. I mean, I'm taller than my sister back home, and this girl looks like she's _ten_ or something, so maybe like four foot eight which is tall for her age I guess but I know I at least beat five feet and-

I hastily ignore the jumbled rambling and crooning thoughts and feelings jumping in my head, especially the little word that danced through my mind. Help? It's more than likely some misguided wishful thinking mixed with pain and possible blood loss. With these contemplations racing across my consciousness, I rapidly survey my potential exit strategies.

I press my finger harder against the steel, biting the inside of my lip and relishing the pain. I can fight well enough to escape, I think. Maybe. Well, possibly. The tang of copper meets my tongue, and only then I flinch.

The girl scowls at my fidgeting behavior, obviously noting how my movements resemble a trapped animal's, but she doesn't mention it.

"Watashi wa anata o iyashi tai kudasai. Watashi wa anata ga mōichido anata no ashi o sonshō shita kanōsei ga ari, naibu de shukketsu suru kamo shirenai to omou." She speaks so carefully and softly, with such gentle caring, that my mind can't even focus on trying discern her words' meanings.

Swishing the blood-laced spit around in my mouth, I put all my focus on the foreign-speaking female, tiny frown and crinkles in between her brows. Now that I look a little closer though, her scowl is less of a scowl and more of a disapproving glance a mother would give a child when being difficult, and for some reason that just irritates me more. Here I am, a young woman of sixteen, and this child is mother-henning me!

I feel awkwardly… degraded. Is that the right word? Well, suddenly I feel like a little kid again with her staring at me like that.

With a twitch of my face, a dry smile plants itself right on my lips, splitting slightly to show my slightly crooked teeth. I never had the patience to wear my retainer after getting my braces off a couple years ago, so they shifted somewhat back into the crooked smile that currently graces me. When my mother found out, she gave me the same glare the girl is giving me now.

Oh yes, I feel like I am suddenly the little kid all over again, stuck in those socially awkward years and I have to say I'm not the biggest fan.

"She said she is here to aid you-"

"I know Haiiro," I drawl, even though I don't exactly know _how _I know. I clench my fist around a hard knife handle and my eyes dart to and from the cat. "But even if that's the reason you took me here, I'm not forgiving you."

The grey cat glares at the interruption briefly, before crooning smoothly, "I would say that you are quite uncouth, if it would not offend you." My face brightens to a crimson in anger.

"Then don't say it!" I yowl, throwing my hands up. My red face rapidly blanches when more pain races up my leg and to my spine, but I stubbornly don't remove my frown. _Stupid talking felines wearing stupid purple vests._

The girl looks back and forth between me and the contented cat in her arms before speaking up again: "Kore wa, sukoshi jikan ga kakarimasu." When the girl smoothly places Haiiro on the ground, the grey tomcat lowers his head, almost as if bowing, before beginning to clean himself. I don't focus on him though, instead concentrating on the girl in front of me as she closes the gap between her and me, holding out a hesitant hand. My muscles freeze, and I learnedly ignore the stab of agony in my leg.

Just as my mouth opens in a protective snarl, my mother's stern glare pops into my mind, and once again I discover myself forcing my body to chill out and unwind as words float into my consciousness. My mother would be upset if I didn't accept… '_She's just a little girl,_' Mom would say with a soft huff, '_And you can't do everything yourself Sheigh. Stop being stubborn like your father!_'

I roll my eyes at the image pervading my mind. Dad stubborn? Mom was always the stubborn one.

My hand twitches and tears prick my eyes. _Is_, I correct my inner dialogue, _Mom is the stubborn one_.

She's not the dead one, I am.

In the corner of my focus, the child is one again directing that worried half-frown-half-scowl crap my way again and before I can even comprehend it, I sigh, resignation seeping into my form. "Well, I've come this far, died once, was possibly poisoned by soup, and followed a talking cat who thinks he's a 'gentleman,'" I mumble, the chuckle prying their way past my lips more likely than not bubbling from a dark place inside my pained chest. My smile just splits at the thought. "What's the worst that could happen now?"

I avert my eyes to the wall and sweep my hand towards my leg as invitation, mentally rubbing out the stiffness icing my body. I can almost feel the approving smile my mom would give me if she were here.

The child pauses minutely, a split-second hesitation before she releases a deep breath. "Ochitsuku," she whispers strictly. Whether she's talking to me or herself, I don't quite know.

Still, the words sear across my mind. 'Calm down.' My head burns, I follow the words' directions and even out my breathing, centering my mind on the task instead of letting it wander.

"Great, I'm either crazy or somehow have miraculously begun to understand their language," I groan quietly between breaths, gaining a confused glance from the other two inhabitants of the room. Looks I completely ignore.

Considering the fact that I have already accepted that I not only died, but was then sucked into the stomach of some kind of devil—sorry, _Shinigami_—talked to a cheerful ninja whose killed thousands and then was brought back to life in said ninja's home, which I must add is another world or dimension entirely, either of those ideas lends themselves to the truth. Maybe it will just be easier for everyone and myself if I just agree on being completely insane. I snort with a wry smile. I am definitely crazy.

Then out of nowhere, a cool tingle spreads through my thigh. A gratifyingly cool chill that infiltrates my skin and into my bone, lacing up and down, comforting yet at the same time intruding and spreading like frost spreading across a window on a cold night. I jerk my head downwards, towards my leg, to see the girl's hand lit with a soft green light. It pushes into my flesh then retreats rhythmically with the gentle sensation like the ebbing of the ocean.

I have to admit, it is soothing in its own right, but absolutely uncomfortable at the same time, an ice cold burn that penetrates and invades my body.

My eyes widen. "Technique…" I mutter in amazement. Sharpening my senses, I quickly hiss as the light green flares into something more blinding, but I stand my ground and keep focus. We had no chakra in the Death God's stomach, no techniques, so this is the first time seeing chakra in the act outside of that damned genjutsu. It's beautiful, flaring emerald and jade wisps circulating around an azure lined hand.

Well, if this doesn't prove me being in the Elemental Nations, nothing else will. She's a ninja, but so young…

_No,_ I remember sharply, _training starts as early as three for some. Minato's student became a full-fledged ninja at five, seeing a ten year old one isn't too weird to believe. _At least under this world's parameters of weird. I lick my lips and stare without abandon. Dread and something cold unfurls in my stomach. Minato's student had killed by the age of six. Was deadly at half this kid's age.

"Watashi wa anata no yōna shinobi nai kamo shirenai, shikashi watashi wa jutsu o shitte imasu ka anata ni kansha," the girl murmurs softly, and the green wave of energy washes over my once-again coiled muscles. Closing my eyes to the head-ache inducing sense, I instead relish in the uncomfortably comforting flow of chakra through my body, lulling it back into relaxation. After a moment, the sensation focuses back on my leg and I dare to open my eyes.

From behind the crouching girl, Haiiro blinks his large, slate eyes at me calmly as if sizing me up. I purposefully ignore the look after sending a pointed glare.

The cat's tail flicks erratically and I can't help but feel smug when his fur stands on end.

Still standing, the three of us are thrown into silence as sweat drips down the girl's face, concentration set resolutely in her lips. I wonder how hard manipulating chakra is if it takes so much focus and work to simply hold a glowing green hand to somebody's leg.

Was it just as hard to wield a sword and kill someone, or did chakra make everything easier?

A blood-spattered body torn at the seams inches into my thoughts, all maggots and decay and death. A clean cut across the stomach. The girl's cute, innocent, face flashes through my mind, though this time it is cold and merciless. Her hands glow a sharp green and cut precisely, like a surgeon, into the corpse's chest cavity and slices clean through ribs to expose the heart, nestled comfortably in between two deflated lungs and resting in a now cold puddle of blood, like-

I know the soup is coming back up my throat to haunt me, but I can't help but hold on to the gruesome image just a second longer. Do I look like that back at home? Did death paint me white and lifeless and decayed just like those men, or did the funeral home cover up his work? Could a child like her kill someone like me so easily?

I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry that there's not even a speck of saliva to force down my throat. People here kill for a living.

_"__Ninja do bad… things for good reasons: to protect their village, families, and country. It's just the way the world works." _Those were Minato's words. But now, looking down at the small child and her face so full of concentration, I can't imagine her stained in blood. Her cheeks are tinted rose and puffed out, baby fat still rounding out her face. A tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth and her chocolate brown eyes hold steadfast onto my injury with such care and worry that I know it is impossible for this girl to hurt me.

I know it, and yet…

My faces twitches into a frown. "It's just the way the world works," I mumble, pushing back the images of death and decay that had greeted me just the other day. I store them somewhere in the back of my mind as a reminder. This is no longer my world, no longer America nor my home, and this world works differently. And I am stuck here until I can find my way back, and until then I am in enemy territory. Caution means safety. No safety is definitive death.

I nod to myself in acceptance. Now, what would Dad do in this situation? I blink and bite at my lip, now cracked and dry, in trepidation. He never starts anything without a plan, but I don't know where I am or who these people are or-

I pause before panic rushes up my throat like bile. Right. First, information. Then, escape.

Licking my lips in an attempt to hide the melancholy on my face, I try to sound nonchalant when I ask, "So, where am I anyway?" Only the flashing of my eyes give away my greed for info, my desperation.

Haiiro looks at me with a thoughtful expression, whether it's suspicion or sympathy though, I can't tell. "You're at the Uchiha's personal armory, though it's mainly abandoned now what with the massacre," he answers with care.

I mask my flinch of recognition as a wince of pain, only feeling slightly bad when the girl mumbles what I assume is an apology. Uchiha. Minato mentioned that name, the Uchiha clan with the Copy Eye Wheel that the man who killed him was a part of. I gain control of the anger rising in my chest to process the rest of Haiiro's sentence.

But a massacre…?

I clear my suddenly dry throat, my eyes flashing upwards as I lean my head back as if to relax. It would be no good if Haiiro could read my expressions; Minato was too good at that, I can only imagine the ninja and their summons here are just as good. I lick my lips lethargically and pretend to trace the spidering lines of vines that are beginning to crawl across the ceiling.

"Massacre?" I try to sound nonchalant, but it comes out cracked and forced. I refuse to look down at the feline in case Haiiro is looking at me accusatorily, with mistrust in his eyes. It sounds as if this massacre was an event that everyone knows about. I breath in slowly. Surely they can hear the pounding of my heart.

After a second or two of hesitation, I hear his smooth as jazz voice say, "Almost four years ago." The finality in his tone gives me the impression that the massacre is indeed something I should have known, should I have been from this universe. His tenor speaks as if I shouldn't even need to know when it happened to know what he is talking about.

Well shit.

I frown and bite my lip. Should I pretend and wave it off or should I- "Sorry, I can't seem to remember anything about an Uchiha massacre," I find myself saying without my go ahead. My mouth opens into a silent 'o' as my mind catches up to my words. I mentally pat myself on the back for my forethought to look upwards and hide my expression, even though I'm cursing my mouth.

I can physically _feel_ the look Haiiro is giving me now, and it is definitely suspicious if not way too curious.

Double shit.

"Yatta!" the young girl shouts happily, standing and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead. I snap my head down to stare at her, pointedly ignoring Haiiro's gaze. The sensation running through my thigh fades, leaving a comfy heat that wonderfully lacks pain. I blink in hesitation before I kick my leg lightly. I feel perfect.

Instead of the toothy smile I should be giving to someone who just healed me, my mind is still on overdrive with conspiracies, and I can't find enough of myself to deny them.

My sight flits over to Haiiro for a second to find him walking away, tail flicking up in the air.

"Saiwai ni mo sore wa anata no karada wa hijō ni yoku chakra ni kakaru yōdesunode, anata no hone ga kanzen ni chiyu shita to anata no ugoki wa, nin'i no hea rain kossetsu o hikiokosanakatta," the young girl rambles on brightly, completely oblivious to the tension and twittering around the small room. Hoisting Haiiro up and under her arm with a meow of indignation, the brunette grabs and unfurls a scroll on the long wooden table then disappears through a door of curtains. I don't even have time to make fun of Haiiro or move before she's back, eyes glittering.

I open my mouth to say something, but she soldiers on without a thought. "Sore wa watashi ga kantan ni kotei deki reiniyotte hijō ni kangei sa rete iru yuiitsu no ikutsu ka no kin'niku no sonshōdatta - dakara ima watashi wa chōdo ikutsu ka no koto o atsume sasete..."

My mouth gapes as she just chatters on, swinging an annoyed Haiiro, without letting my mind catch up in the slightest. Words slam into my head and disappear just as fast with another set of them in an attempt to acclimate to her sentences, but all I get is dizzy and an ache. Oh God, I think I'm going to puke. Body. Very. Healed. Only. So-Welco-Slee-Ku-!

"Tamaki." Haiiro's velvety voice pools into my ears and mollifies the weirdness on my head, but I still find myself heaving.

The rancid aroma shifts through the air and all of us scrunch out faces in disgust. Brusquely wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I spit the contaminated saliva into the pool of half-digested soup-bile on the ground. At the same moment, the girl pauses and glances up at me with an alarmed look.

Wincing at the taste, I spit heartily again before croaking out, "Sorry…" The brown haired girl, Tamaki surely, shakes her head and opens her mouth, surely to fret over me, before seemingly changing her mind. Placing the hand without Haiiro on my shoulders, she veers me away from the pile of vomit and to a chair, applying light pressure to force me down. I struggle at first, but quickly relent. She nods.

With Tamaki now silent except for the light scuffling and bumping into things around the room, I can focus on what Haiiro just said. We're in an Uchiha compound. Ok, so I am currently in Fire Country, which is good. I have the most information on the Land of Fire. But the fact that there was an Uchiha Massacre…? That means more time has passed and politics have shifted outside of the realm I can predict and my information is most likely out of date.

I scowl and take a cooling swig from my canteen at my hip. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stare down at the floor hard. If I am going to somehow get back home, I need everything I can get, and I haven't exactly started off all that hot; you know, with the dead bodies and getting stuck here and all that shit.

Triumphantly cawing, Tamaki calls my attention as she carelessly drops the cat in her arms. I smirk at Haiiro's disheveled appearance.

In my peripherals, I can see Tamaki place both palms on a paper underneath a potpourri of items and suddenly, with a small puff of smoke, it's all gone. Not a single item remains.

I flounder for a second, eyes widening in awe, and for a moment I forget where I am. Mouth tearing into a delighted grin, I then call out, "Shit Tamaki, that was so _cool_!" Zipping up to the obviously pleased girl's side, suspicion forgotten, my eyes rove the unfurled scroll and the gracefully inked characters. "It's a seal…" My eyes light with familiarity, and my heart warms.

The memories come unbidden, but are received with welcome:

_He laughs at my frustrated face, still cheery and polite even after I spit insult after insult in his face. It trickles from his lips softly. "That is the most horrendous calligraphy I've ever seen, Little Blanchette. Were you ever taught to write?"_

_I throw the inkwell at him as hard as I can, but Minato nonchalantly moves his head to the side in a dodge like it was nothing. It probably was, for him. Too bad, he'd probably look so much better with black hair, I think wickedly._

_"__Woah there! Don't waste the ink, I only have so much to waste on those wonderful characters of yours!" Minato chuckles in good humor, only incensing my further. Glaring at the black splatter that slowly fades back to white, I violently unzip my hoodie and throw it to the side with a seething glare._

_"__Shut up, Minato. We don't do calligraphy where I'm from," I grumble, flicking my brush free of excess ink like the blonde man taught me. It is apparently the only thing I could do properly in terms of sealing, as most of the different matrixes and foundations and even the characters always slipped my mind, let alone the actual fine motor skills needed for the brush strokes. According to Minato, imperfection meant very bad things. I snarl when a small drop of black lands smack dab in the middle of the base._

_Scratch that, I can't even remove unneeded ink from the brush properly._

_A boisterous laugh rings in my ears as I chuck the brush at my blonde companion._

"You are acquainted with seals, Miss Blanchette?" I snap my head towards Haiiro, the mirage of my time in the Death God's stomach fading from my vision at his voice. Along with the disappearance of the nostalgia, the warm comfort escapes me as well.

Biting my lip in concentration, I belatedly realize that I recognize the foundation as the Rooks' Stomach after staring at the scroll for a while. I nod my head absently and attempt to match other symbols and placements to what I remember. Definitely a storage seal.

"I was taught a little, but it really wasn't for me," I hum with a furtive glance back to the cat. Haiiro looks at me intently, as if searching, and my body freezes warily. However, the moment doesn't last long before Tamaki is back—not that I ever noticed her leave—dress swirling at her knees.

She taps my shoulder lightly and my muscles coil in anticipation, but she only sends me a nervous grin before focusing on Haiiro, standing by my feet. The girls says, "Ima deguchi ni kanojo o tsurete Haiiro, Obaa-chan wa kono yō ni kite iru."

Nodding his head in that slow, bow-like gesture again, I scoff at the grey cat's grandiose self-worth. _A mangy furball by any other name_, I contemplate wryly, smirk spreading across my face like wildfire. Haiiro sends me a sharp glare in response to my smirk, but the expression on my face only nestles in more comfortably. The cat's tail whips harshly around his slim body.

"Yeah yeah," I grunt at Haiiro as he opens his jowls, "Nekobaa is coming so we gotta go. But why do we need to avoid her? She saved me right?" My searching gaze roves to the cat for answers, but I find a question reflected back at me.

Tamaki hastily rolls the scroll back up and places it into my palm, clasping my hand between hers. Surprise is all I can register as her warm hands leave mine and she smiles nervously. When there is slight hesitation, I know what she is about to do, but I don't stop her. I can't, for some reason or another. Despite the fact that she could be about to try and kill me, I just need this. I need to be able to trust her.

Tamaki wraps small arms around me in a quick and tight hug. After whispering something in my ear that I can't really catch, the girl lets go with a solemnly small smile.

Licking my dry lips and tasting the acrid tang, I return her gaze with a slight nod, and I softly say, "Arigatou. For everything."

And I don't know how I did it, but I said it even though it is a little butchered, and Tamaki's face lights up with a happy smile, shining eyes widening in pleasant surprise. Grinning from ear to ear in a brilliant smile, I can't help but smile myself. For once, I feel like this girl is actually her age, as her bright eyes and still chubby cheeks are full of joy: the epitome of childish innocence.

Looking up to meet her eyes—I was short before but surely not this short!—I reach my hand up and ruffle my fingers through her hair. I latch onto the threads of a language slipping from my memory and repeat, "Arigatou."

Before Tamaki can explode into rainbows, hearts, and sparkles—which is something I'm actually a little worried about seeing as her face looks as if her smile would tear her face in half—I send a sheepish smile back towards her and step cautiously past the beige sheets and out of the room.

I can't help the relieved sigh that leaves me when Tamaki doesn't follow me through—only Haiiro does—but a softly bubbling contentedness still hums in my stomach. The child is just too cute, acting all motherly to a girl almost twice her age. I roll my eyes good-naturedly.

Smiling at me wryly, the summon pads past me and out into the hall. He takes only a few steps before turning around and sitting. "Miss Tamaki can be quite a lot at times, can she not?" I don't miss this smooth affection in his voice.

Hiding a nervous wince with a chuckle, I reply, "More than 'quite a lot,' actually, but she's a good kid." I spare a hasty glance back towards the room and spy the young girl's silhouette. A tentatively warm smile crawls onto my face.

Walking by the feline, I pause. The grey menace isn't moving. Raising a brow, I calmly place Tamaki's scroll into my thigh pouch and turn on my heel. My face scrunches in confusion at Haiiro's still form. The cat is looking politely back, little grin sitting upon his black lips in a courteous manner. However, the smile is dry and lack-luster and his gunmetal eyes are sharper than the glazed mischief he had before. I can feel the hairs on my arms stand on end. "Is something wrong, furball?" I ask guardedly.

A subtle ripple speeds through Haiiro's muscles and a vicious jolt of satisfaction finds place in my head. "Nothing to be concerned about, Miss Sheigh. Please proceed," he intones, his words accentuated with a flick of tail. The grey tip trails lackadaisically across the scroll at his back before curling back out.

The corner of my mouth twitches violently. "I don't exactly know where I'm going, Haiiro, so I can't exactly _proceed_ with you sitting there, ya? If you remember last time…" I grit out between clenched teeth.

A moment of tension passes where the two of us just stare at each other, but then Haiiro's eyes melt back into the dulled teasing glance. An intermittent hissing sound is oddly reminiscent of laughter and my face brightens to an angry scarlet. I hate this damned cat.

"Forgive me, Miss Shiegh, I am ashamed that my courtesies have slipped from my mind," he purred smoothly, pushing himself off the ground. Scowling, I roll my eyes with an exaggerated sigh. With a self-assured grin, Haiiro pads over to my legs, circling them for a moment before pausing in front of me. "If you would not mind, do me the honor of allowing me to guide you-"

"On second thought," I interrupt with a vicious smile I try, and I mean I really _do _try, to make polite, but I know it's all too toothy and there's a twitch I can't get rid of, "I'll find my own way out."

"You will definitely get lost if you embark on your own."

I pause. "Eh, I'll risk it. Thanks for the offer though." Taking a step to the right, the soft thumping of my bare feet echoes my stride. Haiiro's thin tail flicks around him, irritated.

"I sincerely apologize, however I cannot leave you alone."

"Because I'm a 'damsel in distress,' right?" I scoff. "I already told you-"

"No, no. No true damsel is as loutish as you. My obligations remain to Miss Tamaki, who requested I accompany you," is his answer. I don't know what loutish means, but by the politely neutral smile on his face and the next couple words, I definitely could hazard a pretty accurate guess. "Sorry if I offend. Besides, that is the erroneous direction."

My face turns stormy as I growl at his stupid body, silently padding away from me with the smug expectation that I follow. The bastard is lucky that I need to get out of this place, otherwise he'd definitely be stepped on.

"Ah, Miss Sheigh, if you would kindly make more haste?"

My teeth grit painfully and I have never wished more to have the ability to shoot lasers from my eyes. With a dark chuckle, I answer, "Of course, furball." The slight twitch of his fur makes my smile widen viciously. It's fine, I'll be rid of him soon and on my way back home.

**There you have it guys! Thanks for reading, PM or review if you're interested in any of the above mentioned things or if you want to ask me about this story or whatever, etc. Oh! and before I forget...**

**Tremor of soft breath-**

**Leaf falls from the highest tree**

**Blood sheds as blades meet.**

**-For PuddingParrot, who won the last challenge and guessed right on "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton! Parrot asked for an aggressive haiku based on Naruto, and so I based it on the moment a battle begins… hope its good enough for you! X3 I'm not much of a Haiku person and it was a little weird when writing and sorry it took so long but yeah!**

**Review if you wish to make me happy or provide feedback!**

**-Koby Out**


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